I see the gift of autumn
in the glory of crimson and gold,
and the abundance of the harvest.
Still the bitter-sweet taste of sage
Flavors all I swallow.
This harvest season
the ones that have nurtured my growth,
Are now fallow.
The bounty of their final season
They are to remain barren.
I believe in the miracle
Of the womb
And the empty tomb
But for today
My eyes see only empty horizon.