The frost has come,
the pumpkins are past,
still waiting for the leaves to crumble.
My body is crumbling as well
in this autumn time, and yet
there is life ahead even as I look back.
How squeezed is my heart,
like the apples in a press.
How dry is my soul,
like the crisp, dead leaves.
I know the dormant time is needed,
and that there is life beneath the rot,
but it is hard to wait through this autumn time.