The Final Goodbye By Mary Lou Meyers

This week’s storm blew away so many more leaves that Mary Lou’s title seems very appropriate!
The first tear to late autumn is shed
in the slow goodbye of the rose
stationed near the sheltered window.
We cried to see it crumple and die
in the freezing temperatures,
no longer just getting by.

The second tear shed
for the dread of losing the sun,
disappearing so early now,
announcing playing time is over
for children still heaped in levels of leaves,
heaving their way into dark crackling caves
of relief from parents’ scrutiny.

The third tear for the ring-necked pheasant,
who strutted by our window with head held hgh
in the stiffening breeze,
his brilliant coat like leaves, disappearing.
We forgot our fears
till he was teased into leaving
our impregnable fortress,
a hunter’s delight.
We still hear his shattering cries.

The fourth tear is for the fox,
snug and safe in his burrow,
rudely awakened by pounding hoofbeats
of Huntsmen from far away,
but the barking of dogs
drives him away and spoils our day.

The fifth tear for the disappearing birds,
who find a sunnier clime
to give them peace of mind,
and won’t return till the winter’s undone,
and brightening sun returned to the sky.
And the last tear shed for stiff old creatures
displaced by winter winds, but still alive,
sullen and makeshift, no enterprise.
They’ll hardly be missed,
hermetically sealed in small inviolable spaces,
who hung around yet another year,
their limbs practically frozen in place
and curled up like newborns,
toasty in their nests while their tears
wander freely down their faces,
wondering where yesterday went.


One Response to “The Final Goodbye By Mary Lou Meyers”

  1. hillsmom says:

    Years ago when we lived in Bryn Mawr, the cock birds would strut and call. Then quite suddenly there were none. No it wasn’t the hunter, but I think an avian flu which took them away. Will the fox be next? I’ve seen the vixen with twins now that we live further out. But also I’ve seen and heard the foxes dying from distemper and/or mange combined. It’s a sorry sight for the poor things.

    Oh, how I hate this long slow crawl down to December 21. Tomorrow I must clean out the Bluebird nest boxes so they can flock together and keep warm…I should have done it earlier. However, all the birds are glad that the birdbath heater is installed.

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