Death in Amber

These golden days of amber dying
are still most warm.
Eager budding passes quick
from memory and verdant green
drifts into the sunny days
of fall. I love these most

of all

even though you left at autumn's end
and blustery winds blow me nearer
to the day, when, even though the sun
yet glinted in October’s sapphire sky,

you left.

I love these days when chill
frost nips at the tips of blades
of grass and naked trees bow
no more in the wind, their sails
of leaves gone away.

Departed.