October: For A. D. Poem by r james sterzinger

What may have just flown
Over me might be the last
Robin of fall or maybe not.
It is hard to tell.
There may be another one
However, I doubt it.

This early morning sky
With its honest hint of rain
Offers in itself no betrayal:
This season is passing
Winter will arrive
In its own good time.

The yellow and brown leaves
Have dried, have fallen down
Their time has come to conclusion
I know why they fall, yet
Somehow I feel they have failed
Themselves without contrition.

Everything fails, falls,
Has its own death:
Whether it is one's own personal faith
In God, the Republic
Or in the silly notion that we
Ourselves shall last forever.