Just as the color of leaves are changing,
As we got our eyes set on Jack Frost ahead,
The swaying of the newness is going forth in my head.
Dad left the green pastures on the nape of Indian summer,
Where he is in the wind, like a drummer.
When the change of air was just right around the corner,
So were the uphill battles that stormed me,
As he preformed for me.
Just as I’m getting toasty warm with soups and teas,
There to see me through was mother over the gentle clouds
In her garden, growing peas
I’m meeker to go forth into the newness of uncharted lands not knowing which road lies above,
During the beauty, there might be a dove,
During blackness, lies a storm and blizzard,
I will fly above.