Like hands raised in praise
they stand tall and freed
From the dripping colors
that bowed them in the breeze.
Unfettered now from leafy sails
Which bent them low in windy gales
Enabled more to endure the season
Unburdened by Beauty’s reason.
The cosmic broom has swept away
the fluff and fancies of an autumn day.
All that Beauty which weighed them down
Has been brushed clean…nary a leaf on the ground.
‘Tis Beauty too, these fingered wrists
which pierce the heavens and the mists.
And so I’ll stand among them now
with hands raised, though they bow…
In hopes the cosmic broom will sweep
away the follies that I keep,
The fluff that weighs my hands from raising
that I might freely stand, the heaven’s praising.
upon my walk…again