Falling Leaves

In an unending springtime she pledged her troth
Her life's budding yet freshly remembered
In the mind of an eternal wood -
Old yet young, her heart awakened
Beating as she had never before known.
Springs pale greens darkened with new strength;
Their unfolding span reaching for his sunlight,
For her seasons had always been green,
And it seemed his could not be otherwise.

In the fullness of a deep summer
She took up fine threads,
Weaving their dreams together.
A standard sable as her hair, for her beloved.
The realization of long summer dreams;
As their hopes coming to fruition neared,
She rejoiced at his closeness and warmth,
Pulled in the nourishing daylight,
And reflected his glory with her own.

To her love she was wed on a Midsummers Day,
And her eternity stepped into his time,
Irrevocably.
She turned from the pain in her father's eyes
Forsaking the paths of her earlier dreaming.
Her being reached for the life in her beloved;
And he gathered her in,
Gently.
Like once he gathered
The tiny white-starred elanor of her home
To his heart.

But summer is fleeting;
Its time a tale only briefly told.
The leaves, once ever-green, no longer rejoiced
But labored to find enough sun to continue.
Their edges grew golden,
And the seasons had their way.
A different sort of beauty dwells in a wood
Whose glory is slowly dying -
Her beloved grew weaker and age
Would not withdraw its unassailable hand.
Tho' ever bright in appearance her heart began
To feel the ending of its days drawing near -
Bittersweet and sharp, their fleeting love
Began to slow, and flicker as the years
Inexorably
Pulled away the tide of his life.

The sadness of Autumn;
A glorious, slow dying.
Many-hued, the sunset that lingers on the clouds,
Gilding their rims with molten gold and silver:
One last ray of light before enshrouding darkness.
Winter comes:
The harvest cannot be denied.
He would not be as a forgotten winter fruit,
Clinging to a barren tree past its time -
So her love was gathered in by death.
Her love was gathered in,
And she was alone.
Her people gone, all she cherished dead,
Her joy in living flown.

Her heart's colors found a fading,
Affection and desire dulled and brittle:
A brown leaf withered, yet remaining on the branch,
Shaken by a cold wind.
Holding the memory of what it once was,
A crumpled memorial to a summer's day.
A form no longer truly living, drawing no new sustenance.
One more choice to be made.

Her love cast off his form, and fell willingly,
Rather than bear such a fate,
And so she would follow.
With care she chose her place to fall,
A luxury rarely granted by death,
Drawn to the place where once she plight her troth -
Under the greenleaves, upon the knoll
Where once his warm arms held her.
She chose her grave -
Choosing to die in the arms of sweet memory,
With none but the silent trees for witness,
She chose to follow him.
One last look at the barren, cold grass,
The white-starred elanor long departed...
One last breath to let go of.
She fell.
Only one among many,
Yet shining.

- Primula