Time

Written October 13, 1977

Even dying
Comes to an end,
Has its season.
I've ceased to exist
For awhile.
Gone out of time.

Trees in autumn shadows
Stripped bare by the wind
All signs of life
Retreated far within,
Withdrawn, solitary bones
Patient under frost.

In time
Even dying comes to an end
Winter comes and spreads her cloak
To hide all naked forms
To bide the time 'till spring.