all sound, in time, becomes song

by Ron Whitehead

Sunlight Through Red Leaves (photo by Jinn Bug)

The autumn sun drifts through red leaves,

a silent flame that steadies the world.

Your gentle tears of compassion, of love,

have saved me when I thought I was gone.

Your tender voice and the crow’s ragged caw

echo the same rough beauty of being alive.

We are frogs croaking in goldfish ponds,

crickets chirping in wildflower meadows.

All sound, in time, becomes song.

The autumn sun threads the red leaves,

the burning bush at sunset, holding

the trembling world together.

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