Angel Eyes Bring Demise

A book was all I carried in my hands,

in my mind were all the memories I collected

of places beyond the horizon, strange

like the highlands of South America.

I travelled into the delights of autumn,

leaves strewn like the patterns of a Persian rug.

Early nights were lit by candles,

the gusts strong to carry this year's memories

onto the wintering streets.

And that morning fog,

it claimed us all.

I was on the train, the countryside rushing by,

when I saw, bright, foggy, ethereal,

an angel lingering in the sky—

big spectral wings reflecting the sunlight;

and a face that had no identity,

singing with a voice of fierce truth.

Her song shook the trees,

high meadows danced like the stormy sea,

and the scent of the woods penetrated the window.

Even the sturdiest flowers fell to their demise,

but there was nothing menacing about the decay.

The necessity of making room for winter

called for this relentless action—

the angel returned balance to nature,

a quality long claimed by mankind.