Promise To Be Kept

September 21st.

Summer’s last day

gracefully going quietly

under a greater calling.

Mine won’t bid stay,

though I haven’t been trying.

I’m not greater than the voice:

Time to fall away.

Let the colors change.

Blood red.

Pumpkin orange.

Corn yellow.

Coming down.

Naked trees shedding green

envious beauty.

Naked before all eyes.

Yours.

Branches position unchanged.

s t r e t c h e d

Up, out, receiving

blessed unveiling

the face of my Bridegroom.

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