Serblait

Serblait

Tarnished hair, faded skin.
Why do they allow themselves to become old?
To become stale is to follow the path of death.
And yet they remain parallel, to the tired sway
of the autumn trees.
Slowly falling in the depth of the ground,
like an orange leaf, dead in the grass....
Never waking at the sting of the chilled air.
I will stay like the wind. Never aging, cold
and alive, throughout every season and far
after my own mortal sleep.

Copyright (C) 2001 Nicole Karis