I sat and read on my back deck
Smoke rose from ritual fire
I thought about the time of year
When the summer starts to tire
With long-sleeved shirt upon my back
I watch the green leaves fading
And think on what they're telling me
Of birth and death and aging
If life in one great circle moves
Where is the start and finish?
How then can Samhain be the end?
Must it not, too, replenish?
A babe is born, an elder dies
Harvest's last sheaf is taken
The wheat becomes a fresh-baked loaf
In death it's not forsaken
The leaves will fall in golden piles
Strong arms and rakes we'll need
The rotting leaves become the mulch
On which tender shoots will feed
And what of friends and loved ones passed
Beyond my sight and hearing?
Do I not have good reason then
For why my eyes are tearing?
Like those golden piles of autumn
Their spirits have been transformed
I feel their love banked round my feet
There to keep me safe and warm
And so I struggle but can't see
Where a circle ends or starts
It gives me comfort when I think
How our love shall not depart
