Painting the Willows by Ken Allan Dronsfield

Colors of the leaves in autumn wove a lovely quilt

covering the countryside, woods, and waters

falling like winter snow from the tallest of trees

lighting the forest like a candelabra until the first snow.

She was there by the pond painting the weeping willows;

She never spoke a word, just watched the trees and their

swaying branches in the late afternoon breeze then

disappearing into the mist of a newborn twilight.

There was poetry as she floated silently above the grass

while wavelets ran up the beach chasing little shorebirds;

and rhythms in the crashing of the waves upon rocks;

like the taste of a tear as it slowly finds its way to the lips.

Broken cobwebs capturing pieces of dead leaves

now turning pirouettes like a ballerina in the breeze

hanging there suspended in the tall trees.

Listening to the tolling of the valley’s brass bell

The faithful in awe at a soft whispering magic in the moon.

Birds at the feeder bring a smile to one’s dull day

while tired of sitting in the sun praying for a halcyon rain.

Hearing sister crying brushing knots out of her long hair;

I’m wondering about the girl painting the weeping willows

will she return like a wisp of smoke on a breeze.

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Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran and poet from New Hampshire. He graduated from the Community College of the Air Force and has six poetry collections to date; 'The Cellaring', 'A Taint of Pity', 'Zephyr's Whisper', ‘The Cellaring, Second Edition’, ‘Sonnets and Scribbles’ and his latest collaborative book, 'Inamorata at Twilight. Ken loves writing, thunderstorms, coin collecting and spending time with his rescue cats Willa and Yumpy.