The golden time is here

In all its glory and blaze;

The autumnal tints – flame hues-

The red, yellow and orange –

Crowd the nipping air in fiery leaps

Before the twigs and branches strain,

In skeletal supplication

In earthy tones of greys and browns,

Frigid in winter’s rime and frost,

Before the earthy sod grows hard

In the freezing climes

When the wintry winds howl

And shake the twigs to drop

And write cuneiform

In the pallid coverlet

That wraps the world in frost,

And before those waning moments

Lead to a numb oblivion.

          The golden time is here

          When wisdom’s kernels

          Plump up to the skin.

          Now, I stand upon my vantage –

         The tired past behind me –

         In calm, serene contentment.

         With sage and mature eyes

         I wait future’s progress

        Before the aural tints fade away

        Into silvery dullness and wrinkly grey,

        Before the rheumy eyes peer –

        Half-shuttered- at all around me

       When feeble limbs shake

       Like unsheltered aspen leaves

       And cracked voice rasps

       In listener’s ears

       Before the waning moments

       Inch towards eternal rest.