Crisp lying under oak trees where they grew,
Their veins dead rivers where the sap ran through,
Some green and waiting silently in haze
Of morning. To go this way, with such a grace
These leafs, as found in poems. I did find
Old trees with life and death, a different kind,
Combining past and present in one branch
That knows to bleed out life yet never stanch.
I hear the sound of death in cracks near me,
An owl is closing eyes so not to see
A leaf now captured in a spider’s web
While Autumn kills it in it’s fading ebb.
This is the place where time is made and dies;
A wood where one can hear the branches’ cries.
I took the photo in the woods, Terschelling, 19 September 2014. And that tree is not an oak 🙂