I Am My Master by Arrow

FALL
by Nema

Trees in Autumn’s fire weep dead leaves
for King John Barleycorn.

The day sky’s aching blue
catches close the heart that mourns
for fleeting ecstasy.

Night north wind scours air to clarity,
unveiling stars and stars.

The ghost path stretches high,
horizon to horizon,
and the Hunter hastens
to his winter camp.

Grandmother counsels:
waste no time in hurtful things.

You have your time and season
which soon passes and is gone.
Make your own reasons, justify yourself.

When life withdraws to root and burrow,
to den and seed,
think on death and the Wild Hunt.