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This first one is by me, written three years ago at about this time of year when there was a rash of disasters across the globe, all at one time, it seemed.  That combined with my own struggle with dwindling daylight and nasty weather had me feeling rather gloomy, apparently.  😉

“The world is dying, it seems to me
From browning grass and dropping leaf
To victims who perish across the globe
And survivors waiting for relief.

Life ebbs away in the face of drought,
Or quake or flood or tidal wave
The sun is cooler, more distant yet
No longer free with the light it gave.

From what I see from day to day
Destruction freely roams the land
Be it from the wrath of earth
Or lethal blows of an army’s hand.

And just before the darkest hour
I search my chilling heart and know
That soon these fearsome days shall pass
And healing winds shall blow.

Those who’ve been lost and laid to rest
Live on in a loved One’s mind.
The earth shall heal and we shall build,
Leave darkness of the past behind.

The sun shall draw in close again,
The fragile earth shall be restored;
Spring returning bird and bloom
And all the things that I adored.”

A Storm in the Rocky Mountains (Albert Bierstadt)
A Storm in the Rocky Mountains (Albert Bierstadt)

~~~

This next poem recently crossed my path, and I really liked it.  I was not very familiar with Alice Cary, but her expressions here are just my cup of tea LOL!

Alice Cary
Alice Cary


NOVEMBER POEM

The leaves are fading and falling;
The winds are rough and wild;
The birds have ceased their calling-
But let me tell you, my child,

Though day by day, as it closes,
Doth darker and colder grow,
The roots of the bright red roses
Will keep alive in the snow.

And when the winter is over,
The boughs will get new leaves,
The quail come back to the clover,
And the swallow back to the eaves.

The robin will wear on his bosom
A vest that is bright and new,
And the loveliest wayside blossom
Will shine with the sun and the dew.

The leaves today are whirling;
The brooks are all dry and dumb-
But let me tell you, my darling,
The spring will be sure to come.

There must be rough, cold weather,
And winds and rains so wild;
Not all good things together
Come to us here, my child.

So, when some dear joy loses
Its beauteous summer glow,
Think how the roots of the roses
Are kept alive in the snow.


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