Seasoned

I wake to find the pleasant days have fled
and autumn’s luscious colours overthrown.
I rise to see the sun has dropped his head,

the warming sun flash-frozen like a stone.
The earthbound clouds conspire to shut him out;
the lesser light will now take up his crown.

I work to loose compassion midst the doubt
where dreary rains long drowned the fledgling crop,
Impatiently, strong winds swirl roundabout;

I rest my weary head, exhausted drop
and weep for all that’s lost mid winter snow.
I still—the soul’s dark night bids me to stop—

embrace the voice of my Beloved now.
As lilies through the cold of moonlight glow,
I sleep amidst the sweetness of His flower.