Precipitation

Water-spun clouds' delicate droplets fall
into shades of autumn that gently float
down the river of dreams for one and all,
collectively joined in a brittle boat.

I look toward yonder where feathers fly
in scripted swerves and a circling band.
Forgive me the wayward heart, mind, and eye.
It's easy to wander with pen in hand.

In fragments of amber and curves of green,
summer is stretched until shadows subside,
soaked in memory, a season unseen,
a wild filly flung from the mountain side.

Ponderous plume of precipitation!
I am lost to its visionary wing
as scatters of scarlet are stitched and spun
in the October wind, promising spring.

The skyline is sketched among sacred stone,
spread on the canvas of Virginia blue.
Leave me not fading though I walk alone
in the autumn eve remembering you.

Spring is a promise, a hope to fulfill,
a dream and a wish when you will return.
Until then, I shall wait, silent and still,
like a rose in winter waiting to burn.