Until The Wind Sings

I am an oak leaf

clinging to spring

in the brittle dying

days of my autumn.

Defying endings

while the sun

warms my cheeks,

I hold on to life

and not the dust

calling for my bones.

Though my smile

is stained with age

Joy doesn’t fret

what the mirror speaks.

Until the wind sings

my funeral song, I will

dress in bright colors

and plant memories

where the roses bloom.

©Susie Clevenger 2014

At Real Toads Grace prompted us with the works of Salvatore Quasimodo.

Sunday Mini-Challenge ~ Salvatore Quasimodo