|
trees of autumn fire |
|
yellow, brown and red |
|
sinking in the mire |
|
bowing down their heads |
|
whispering that all things |
|
ceases to exist |
|
apple cores and smoke rings |
|
lovers in the mist |
|
remember what |
|
you came in here for |
|
that he had to go |
|
sooner than you'll know |
|
you're an open door |
|
to an empty store |
|
fill the shelves again |
|
fill them while you can |
|
in comes the intruder |
|
our least expected guest |
|
he tiptoes like a cougar |
|
and finds us at our best |
|
struggling for protraction |
|
seasons in the sun |
|
(one more season in the sun) |
|
begging for one last fraction |
|
of what we had begun |
|
remember what |
|
you came in here for |
|
that the bells will toll |
|
sooner than you know |
|
you're an open door |
|
to an empty store |
|
fill the shelves again |
|
fill them while you can |
|
with a list in his mind |
|
and a hole in his eye |
|
and a hood on his head |
|
and our time on his side |
|
and a scythe in his hand |
|
and a broad smiling face |
|
and a hovering walk |
|
and a bend on his back |
|
he has come to collect |
