As natures libraries patterns change
by slow degree with mornings call
the mustering oak and elm and ash,
where moonlight dripped and silvered boughs,
point down to where the yawning path
knows no defined establishment.
And here ensphered by harmonies,
with great eclat the morning fugue
of rustling wind and wild life’s call
declares release from night times veil
revealing him who stops a while
to rest and summon resolution.
Resolute he stands, intent,
yet with the passage of the years,
and yielding by slow degree,
his back now stooped, his burnished face
with wrinkled mien his mind dwells deep
on natures contract made with man.
Michael Edwards © November 2016