In Celebration of the Coming of Autumn

source

 

At Summer's End

 

At summer's end I'll harvest all the fruit,

clusters of hope made ripe by rain and sun

on wizened, gnarled vines sinewy of root.

 

I'll crush it with the weight of life begun

in youth-blind earnestness, burnished by dust

of shattered goals and victories hard-won;

 

and when the broken flesh, fermented must,

is freed of all its pomace, I will fine

it till it's pure, then wait with steady trust.

 

Matured by nature's hand, sweetened with time

in weathered oaken barrels, the fruit born

of callow dreams will yield a mellow wine.

 

I'll sip the wine with wisdom lately learned,

in autumn leisure, fought for, sorely earned.

 

 

© Leticia Austria 2009

First published in The Storyteller