Our Own Stained Glass
Our Own Stained Glass
Fall often
Stains our world brown,
Leaves the color
Of an old ruddy gold,
Their tips dry,
Crinkling with the cold
That sweeps through our souls;
A veil of bleary eyes
Dulled from a bright
Summer soil
To a tired
Winter muck;
Tree branches whisper
Melancholy songs
Through bare bark
Stripped of their flimsy green hope
Soaked with the sun;
The gowns of ruddy gold,
Though,
Can be polished,
Scrubbed by wishes calloused
With desperation,
Can be hemmed
With views once used
To ward away anything
We didn’t want to deal with,
Patchworking each marvelous
Shade of brown
Into what we want to see
In autumn:
Our own
Stained glass.
The Voice
November 2024
Inspired by Fall
Thank you to everyone who participated in our Autumn '24 Writing and Art Contest! We received a remarkable 190 submissions that responded to the challenge to "convey the ephemeral beauty of fall in th...
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Our Own Stained Glass
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