The swift and cold pre-autumn rain,
Will not, dear life, have come in vain.
The last burst of green life given
In dried beds of aged creeks riven,
To the e’er yellow turning leaves
And growing light of morning eves,
The final breath of dew will fall
To give short hope again to all.
And lest the grey skies cry once more,
So thicket branches, wet, uproar,
The Limbo balanced leaves will wilt
To summer’s light, left dry, and spilt
On bleached stone and stem dyed white,
Will all leaves, green, confront the bite
Brought in bleak lack of harvest’s rain,
‘Til Earth’s kind tears cascade again.
—Noah Turner is a high school student living in the mountains of Boulder County, who enjoys reading and writing short fiction and poetry in his free time.
