Wednesday, October 9, 2013


photoart: sharon auberle


by Sharon Auberle

I asked you, once, what happens
when dreaming comes to an end.
When light that falls through the trees
no longer seems able to tend
to those dreams into which we leapt
long ago, now grown cold
and autumn closing in,
brash, blustery and bold
and wind stripping leaves bare
from trees once sheltering us,
life and death beneath my feet
now become just dust.
Oh my heart, help me remember
in every cold fire remains an ember.

~ previously published in Crow Ink
  (Little Eagle Press)