A Melancholy Gold

By Vernie Lynn DeMille

 

The wind is in the grass now,
Gentle fingers prodding
At leaves that will not rise,

 

Pressing them to dance
Just one more waltz
Along the avenue beneath my feet.

 

They flutter, faintly,
Butterflies with broken wings
The color of burnished coins.

 

There is a spirit of wealth
Amidst them that makes me long
To gather them like treasure

 

And bury myself in their
Melancholy gold, bronze, and copper,
Beneath the blue diamond sky

 

And lose myself in memories
Of sunshine, warmth, and laughter
Beneath the branches.

 

The longing starts
For what is now to last
To stay my present, not my past.