Some Trees Still Stood

Some trees still stood by the brook
Their trunks were secure, despite the September rain that bruised and battered the streambed and all the woods
But they grieved their leaves, as only a smattering remained
Like loafers at a party, disdaining the long ride home

Even the most beautiful refrain must end,
And the same sad song brings us here again, on the last Sunday in October,
For a final walk, in memoriam to all that's been
In the most beautiful of mausoleums, vaulted in cobalt

The river ran louder this afternoon
Or perhaps we only had new ears, perked up—
Grief does help sound to sing
So here we hear more clearly, and feel more deep the sting:
Our best hopes cannot save that which is consigned to earth
And the divine still becomes dirt

But the colors in the orange instant before us,
This red revolt
Speak of never going quietly
Of fearlessly diving,
Of jumping from a rock into water you trust will hold you
Of holding no pennies back, but thrusting fistfuls forward wildly
Forsaking life-savings for the final ride

Then they fly;
To earth, yes,
But first they fly

And as their last act, they promise something which hovers just beyond the ability of words to purchase
They startle like a hummingbird hanging as miracle above a branch
Hanging with unseen wings, for just a moment,
To prophecy of spring