It has become a personal tradition to write a poem every year for my birthday. This year I turn 50, at a time of enormous changes and challenges. Still I face the future with optimism and a belief in those underlying truths which are the base on which I build my life.
Fifty in October
Wind has woken, whispers chill warnings,
shakes green from foliage, from fronds.
Trees turn from her icy temper, turn inward,
let summer leaves fade to yellow, to brown,
blown, starved in favor of future buds,
to cold ground.
A start to the end, an ending
Clears paths to future starts, nests fall
but only dry eggshells recall days of rebirth,
cycling, recycling pasts, futures laid down
with death, decay, after fading away
in wet ground.
A tree tall at peak of life;
autumn can change, tear leaves,
wind can bend and break branches
but roots run deep, gold-crowned
splendidly steadfast, unshakable
in loamy ground.
Nyborg 2016
Beautiful poem -like my favourite season …autumn
Yes, a wonderful time of year, and something I have not experienced in Europe for a long time.
Tillykke Rilla. Husker et par gode fødselsdage i Dhaka sammen. Håber alt vel. Nikolaj
Tak, Nikolaj. Fødselsdag er altid godt!
What a deep and thoughtfull poem. Congratulations with the round birthday ,Rilla you are like the tall tree in the last verse.
This is lovely, Rilla.
Because I know it is a certain birthday for you, the relevance strikes me, particularly the last stanza.
Stands alone however, without the birth date knowledge.
Thank you Christine. It is relevant for me right now, but as you say, hopefully also relevant at other levels.