Written last autumn, this is my tribute to one of my favorite stories of Greek mythology.
“Do not look back,” I’d heard my mother say,
Voice full of grief, her face was far too grim.
It was so hard to trade the light of day
For endless nights with undead lives and him.
Her sadness was the hardest thing to bear.
Six months below was nothing next to that.
Over the years, I thought, “What could we share
Besides the sorrow my descent begat?”
One summer’s end, I found myself inspired
As, into gray, the trees began to fade.
With gifts from her, at birth, I had acquired,
I made the colors of the leaves cascade.
“Winter’s ne’er endless. Here, my gift to you,
Hues to remind of next year’s spring renew.”