and the gales of autumn
scour birch leaves from branches
scatter them across the gardenís remains
the poppies and forget-me-nots ready for
willow tosses above the cobbled margin
of the tide line. salt
spray and sand
etch panes trembling in weathered frames.
stove ash circulates suspended in damp
drafts born of the buffeting storm
and settles in my cooling coffee
as I drink it in.
couple cords yet to split and stack against
snows soon to descend, but time now
just to sit and sip coffee, just to
listen to the planet roaring, listen
to the quiet heart grateful
for the full cellar and a well banked fire,
enough to last the winter, enough
to want for nothing more.
©2000, Michael S. Queen. All rights reserved