Rod McKuen: Autumn As It Is...

Autumn as a season

and autumn as a life
are different
than I first expected.
The first, an abstract;
the second, a subtract.


The leaves turn crimson,
the hair turns white.
The leaves fall down,
as do testicles
and the firmest breast.


The dream goes on
for trees and man.
The difference is
the tree survives
the harshest winter,
but man may get
a simple cough
and raw will be
the days that follow.


It is as it is. It was as it was.
Nothing changes
but the scenes and seasons.
Worry not. It is only life
and that is all we have.
It often isn’t much
but nearly always quite enough.


R.I.P. Ron



I changed the poem because too many people didn't understand the first poem I put here. Chris understood, but I got tired of the email and phone call questions about why I chose the first poem.


First I was going to quote Rod McKuen, "I say again the poem is me. I lived, or am living it. I accept no advice on how it could or should be lived." But, this isn't about me and my choices, but rather about a man's death.


Hopefully this poem will be better received.