Peak Season

It’s peak season and we’ve not yet taken peep or peek
At these leaves so soon- even in a week- to leave us.
We’ve been people believing in being given a reprieve,
Those who won’t ever have to grieve over sleeping,
Who have been wise and wide awake to either greet
Or weep over great changes we’re aware were near;
Still, it’ll be death (I fear) helps us clear up what’s dear.

Age is the foil of all things, especially all the living, both
The high and the low, of all foliage to every fellow we see
Well here today who may, be they May-birthday-fresh-
Of-face (many I remember fell low well before December),
In a year be away from form, shape, every phase of life…
Will we even, ever held in shade, be here to hear of their
Going there to where we’re timeless at every year’s turning?

Each life, like each leaf we see- all things single and unique,
Green even as mid-spring greeting us in every twig and sprig,
Or colorful as fall scenes seen on eve of leaving- will mingle all
With earth at next blast- even breeze- last breath or heartbeat:
So now we go knowing it may be the last season we’ll ever see.

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