My mother is three months gone
to the shady Autumn
where old ghosts go!
Rain! A cold gray numbing rain!  

The ideals of an age
have been sold
...whose generation pales
in a leafy page
as wrinkled crisp
as the season’s coming gold.
Cold rain benumbs a shoulder!
Cold gray numbing rain!  

I look
for what God means...look
only to a gallery of paintings
or those imagined stories
in a book
...and all day there is rain outside!
...rain numbing passion
leaving only ruined pride!  

Though surely there is magic
somewhere in the sky...
...as surely as the stains of summer go!
Cold gray numbing rain
becoming snow...  

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