A Late Walk (A Love Of Late)

Walking up to Autumn’s gate
Blocked in part by blooms of late
Bowing heads to shortening days,
Scattering seeds on stony stays,

I step to reach the yellowed maze
Of crumpled stalks and fallen blooms
Eaten by hungry birds and hares,
No longer alive, it seems too soon.

Even a tree looks downward on
Its summer splendor faded, gone;
It sends a branch that cracks to fall,
Its windswept story told to all.

Written upon the winds of time,
Never fully telling its earthly rhyme,
A story of late foretold in aster blue:
That in my final hour, I would give my heart to you.

            .....

#RobertFrost