All morning I have walked the banks
Of the salt marsh welcoming the lamentations
In a quiet way, sotto
To testaments of another autumn turning From swan
feathers to early October snow.
Days hence will find them farther south.
These aromatic waters will skin over
With a burgeoning patina of ice and
Silence will prepare the whole of us
For the advent of darkness that endures
Welcome too will be that silence And its dark
partner backlighting aurora
borealis. Winter is a season to reflect
upon the generations
Of trumpeter swans these brush-lined banks have known,
Of the seasons comprising this generation that knows me.
Yesterday is but an imagination,
An imperfect memory, and tomorrow never
There is only this frosty morning and these rarities Replenishing their strength for further journeys.
There is My regard of all
this before me and a fervent desire to endure the dark.
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