Death came quickly
Early this October,
The month newly born.
The freezing wind browned Leaves
Whose minds had barely
Changed from green to Autumn dress.
The flowers of my garden are gone
Beauty melted into death.
I worry over our young buck,
So proud of his six points.
And the old doe,
One of the first fawns we remember,
Whose twins are just out of their spots.
These wild things,
Tamed by our nearness–
Will our signs
Discourage the November hunter
Or will death quickly harvest this beauty?
In the Autumn of the year,
Of life, of my life, mortal all,
I plant tulip bulbs that will bloom in Spring.
–The Course of Our Seasons, AuthorHouse Publishing 2011