Ghosts swim and swirl around my mug
they lift and linger and leave
Cinnamon and apple scent from the stove
The fire keeps warm, the wind keeps low
Orange and purple tint the sky
black surrounds me inside
The wind whispers my name
it knows every secret I keep
It follows me to church on Sundays
I hear it in the hymns, in my prayers,
in the crunch of the leaves
as they tumble under my feet
It's in the Body and the Blood
it's in the Father's holy speech
Every word he preaches doesn't land
but crumbles endlessly
It's, once again, that time of year
when my faith is shaken
like leaves from the trees
in the gentle autumn breeze
So I'll stoke the fire
to keep me warm for a while
There's nothing much to do
but sit alone on the old oak's swing
It will pass, it always does
it never feels that way, but it always does
everything returns to where it was
in the golden breeze of autumn
