As life
Is called to the root
And winter’s closet,
To sleep
In earthen cloak
And fold

All that was fine summery
And light green
Is made russet
And tinged gold
In withdrawing chromatography.
The once plump
Is made papery
And freckled
With age,
And transition
Is fading display
Of the bold
Brought
To its beautiful knees.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015