Autumn falls gently, its tears alighting
On grass so to languish under leaf
Helplessly in the dark, amid bright November sun.
Thirsting. Thirsting for light, for light and liberation.
Utterly helpless against the dark, against time.
Will by grace the savior come with his rod and its fingers?
To sweep away the blanket and drive away the darkness?
To bathe all in saving light?
Indeed He comes! See! The darkness is driven
With refreshing breeze, Light pours over
Blade and crevice, shimmering with dew drops
of autumn's first tears
