There is no Autumn [sonnet]
There is no Autumn in my fertile heart,
where nothing falls but must ascend like heat.
My greensome coloured leaves do not depart
from twigs and branches. Summer’s not complete.
No frost can come my way to freeze the dew.
The crops sown in my fields no harvest need.
For melancholy moments now are few
and flowers in my soul won’t “go to seed”.
Perhaps you think I’m falsely speaking here —
describing things which have no place in truth.
But I am not a victim of the year
and am, in perpetuity, a youth.
When Father Time comes knocking on my door,
I’ll say: “I’m not your servant anymore!”
© Alan Morrison, 2017
One thought on “There is no Autumn [sonnet]”
Sep 8, 2017 at 8:01 pm
It’s a good thing the soul can be evergreen and flourishing when a it feels threatened by what seems the inevitable downward spiral in the seasons of life: Always growing and not disconnecting the spirit from the bountiful source. Beautifully done!
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