Like leaves, this autumn finds us
Clutching on the Tree of Life
We huddle close together on our bough
And shiver when the winds begin to blow
And snow comes down the mountains
And the river starts to freeze.
A lonely ray of sunlight frees itself
From the brooding skies
Glancing obliquely over fields of rye
That only yesterday were peopled for the harvest
And the reapers were all angels.
In memoriam: Donovan Walsh