Days of Rays

Days of Rays

The breeze whispers through the trees,
moving leaves and also the journaling me.
The message as clear as the breeze,
crisp as it beckons my pen to see.

Take notice of the falling leaves,
and the last of the cicadas, please.
And the way that the sun rays fall,
gives rise to observing it all.

The voice of the pines and cedars
gives pause to the minds of the Readers,
You there, down the road of time,
Heart beating on in the river Sublime.

You are the cause of the voice of the Muse,
Spoken to as I listen to the zephyr,
What you hear, I do not get to choose,
I only prune what the zephyrs stir.

These days of rays are getting shorter,
The haze of winter comes again.
As autumn and spring are the mortar,
Holding Muse, through my ear, and my pen.