I lift my hands
But you lift my soul.
As the autumn breeze stirs the dry brush
I mourn the loss of color,
But you prepare a place
For the splendor of spring
And its bounteous increase
While using the seemingly dull and sad fragments
I close my eyes and look with my soul,
Taking a deep breath
I can almost smell the increase,
The new life,
As I smile at the beauty
Of eternity . . .
By Martha L Shaw – Copyright 10-22-12