Thatchwork Spilt.
Updated on January 27, 2010
Thatchwork Spilt.
In the Autumn woods
where the fall foilage
becomes spoilage,
I stand in awe of this
patchwork quilt,
this thatchwork spilt.
Intricately woven
from summers ends,
all the leavings
of a season,
tattered scraps
of what was
in brilliant oranges,
red, and yellows
tumbled together with
briars and twigs,
to make my path.
Through sun
dappled splendour,
that only God
could render.
I linger in the
late afternoon haze,
realizing that I am
just another
speck of color,
soon to be swept
away as well,
by the winds of fate,
from my family tree,
and then woven
into the stitches
of time that make up
all eternity.
©-MFB III