Autumn of my Days

Ah! Comest on the autumn of my days.
When glory wreathes me in rich hues—
Red and gold, yellow and bronze,
Placed on my head in victorious crown

Before the colours die and fall upon the ground.
Then winter will come and wrap me
In its blanket of white,
And I will be at peace
And sleep right through the night,

‘Til spring returns with greening rains,
And gentle breezes melt the icy rime
‘Til warming sun turns rivers’ iron core
Into fast running silver freshets.

And soon, oh yes, so very soon
Summer again will bring its fruits
And feed me with wondrous delights—
The Creator will serve me at the board.

© Judith Lawrence

Morning Rises

Morning rises later now
As September comes;
Five o’clock no longer sees
Light of dawn appear.

Seven o’clock brings sky’s grey tinge
Yet sun stays hidden in
His chamber—curtained, ‘til he can
No longer lie abed, for shame.

Sun draws his warmth around himself
In secret; scattering only pale, cool treasures
Of light on the ground; leaving behind him
Red-gold streaks in the trees once-green.

Reflections of morning will soon lie late
On icy-white drifts of snow; while sun’s reality
Streams south with the snow birds
And northerners mourn its loss.