Making new herons

The first rains of Autumn wash away
the last flowers of Summer
and the scent of dead petals
become the fake smell of Fall.
We smell up gone roses
as we wander through damp woods
that have no memory
and don’t even recall
Spring when we found
the young heron,
when all was a promise.
You and I fed it with worms;
still the heron died soon,
we buried it deep but
worms must have eaten it
before the seagulls
took them in turn.
Now we wander apart under
those moist dark trees
while their leafs,
once oily bright green
are crisp and brown
and about to die soon.
The now is not lasting,
we need to think further,
there will be a new Spring
with offspring of past,
new herons lay eggs
and new herons emerge
to eat worms and so on
and so on go the seasons.
But herons don’t know
and nobody knows
of the reasons.


Comments on: "Making new herons" (5)

  1. A big question in this one I think! I guess we will never know what its all about.

    Its so much cooler now, we have been spoilt by an exceptionally good summer πŸ™‚ I do love autumn though.

    L &H xx

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