Autumn

The flight of wild geese
in arrowhead formation,
rustling all at once
over the maturing tide,
their eyes half-open
for season of forgiveness.

Restless gusts shake down
colors on the washed-out earth,
on fields of pumpkins,
as a warm quilt for the ground,
to hide acorns in
for the young chipmunks and sprouts
that wake up in spring.
So, seeing the chimney’s smoke,
the trees undress fast,
for one has to lighten up
in preparation,
for all those hard times ahead.

If cycle’s complete,
after each fall, life returns,
with seeds of sorrow
and weed pollens cast aside,
showing us the way to go.

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Naga Uta
syllable count: 5/7/5/7/5/7 .....ending with 5/7/7
no rhyme needed