First Snow Mid Autumn

A sonnet

Photo by William J Spirdione

The leaves haven’t even finished falling.
The sun shines, through flowers fleeting glory.
The whiteness warns of seasons recalling,
An inexorable, endless story.

Much uncertainty is all around us.
Almost no one needs to be told of this.
The battle plays out big and small and thus.
Winters snow conceals mouth of the abyss.

Though autumn wins back its tenuous grasp.
Winter won’t be denied it’s righteous place.
To cause our current scene, it’s final gasp.
This place and time will leave without a trace.

This moment in time, we should all cherish.
Repeated enough. Before we perish.