Here is another offering I think is apropos for this time of year.
They come, they call, seems like overnight
Monochromatic is the hue, yet beautiful in the sun.
A tapestry is woven as a respite to some,
Sweaty faces are dried by the wind as it hums.
They blow, they bend, through the sometimes raucous days and nights,
If they could speak you would hear their pain.
While some are lost, most remain, for another day’s sweet refrain.
We mourn the ones who no longer remain.
They turn on us! As if some magic wand was waved for change!
This transformation seems all too soon,
Could it be the beginning of their doom?
The turning is at their leisure,
For though they long gave pleasure,
this is all for good measure.
They come, they call, and then they fall, turning, turning, turning…
© 2017 G. David Steele,, All Rights Reserved