Season's change - mortality
This morning I see the rosehips
slowly reddening on the
branch
marking the changing season as
high summer slips into autumn
and I too
standing on the foreshore of old age
the flotsam of a past life discarded
in the waves that crash
behind my back
in their eternal rhythm
with slow uncertain steps
through crumbling sand toward
the distant hazed horizon
have no more than the seasons' choice
must follow the allotted path
and ever closer
through tired eyes
begin to see
beyond the sands
the tangled wasteland where
the rosehips are already ripening
marking the changing season
as my high summer slips into
inevitable autumn
kim james
21 august 2012
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