Written By:   Birl Brown

Those forests gleamed so lush and green

     When birds sang everywhere,

And early slanting sunbeams seemed

     To cast their color there.

There, the sun sent tiny rosy joys

     For an infant dawn’s appeal;

Now, playful ploys, like childhood toys

     Old attic doors conceal.

All of midday’s torrid light

     Less plow-bent earth discloses;

One fence’s honeysuckled site

     Beneath town-tar reposes.

The flamelight’s flirting shadows fade

     And embers gather gray;

The warming wood is ashes, made

     From fires of yesterday.

What clocks contrive, they let conclude

     When pendulums hang still,

And a softly settling quietude

     Steals in with silvered chill.

Those forests seem so lush and green

     Where birds sing everywhere,

And, now, the slanting sunbeams lean

     To kiss the cold with care.