The Eighth of November, 2008

                                                                                                                                     by Cleveland Noel
             
The Eighth of November, 2008


It’s that time of year:
the highest point of Fall,
when the dying coals of summer
touch the countryside, and
all the world ignites, exploding
in brilliant hues, dazzling splendor,
then as a dying breath, is spent. 
A thousand million ashes fly
and fill the air, caught up on the wind --
swirling overhead, rushing past,
dancing once a spiral waltz
they shall not dance again;
but a few more weeks, and
only skeletons will remain, all
gray and lifeless, bitter cold
as death...

But for now, while it lasts,
I shall stand here, eyes beholding
this glorious sight, tongue tasting
drops of Heaven’s grandeur,
ears straining, trying to hear
the quiet voices in the rustling
of the leaves, telling me
to wait, just wait --
the glory of the world to come
will know no death, no
winter; immortal eyes
will rest on Immortality,
the Voice of Thunder
on immortal ears, immortal tongue
will ever praise the God Eternal,
never falling silent.