We grieve in different ways …
With tears or silence or regret;
With normal functions all upset;
With thoughts of what we should forget;
Not knowing what to say.

We who are left behind
Must grapple with mortality.
The fallen leave a legacy
That all will face eternity …
Nor can death be declined.

If we can understand
That Purpose guides experience,
And when it seems as little sense
That life is cut at great expense
There is a Higher Hand.

No death is met in vain,
For there are never accidents
In God’s all-perfect Providence …
He makes no selfish ordinance,
But rather timeless gain.

We say our last “adieu”,
Yet we who meet to pay respect
Would face a certain grim prospect
That by the Sovereign Architect
Next meet for me or you.

Poems of autumn
 scents…
 spicy wild flowers
 decaying leaves
 apples
 pumpkin pie
 sights… 
  golden rod
  purple iron weed 
  joe pye
  birds
  packed for a trip south
 sounds… 
  turkeys chirp in the woods
  crackling fires
  tractors turning tufts of summer down
 savors… 
  grapes
  new potatoes
  cider
 sensations…
  chill after summer sweats
  noses tickled by ragweed pollen

What about the country festivals?
What about the craft fairs?
Need I elaborate?
All these images…
 overdone
 sometimes trite
 
Autumn rather may suggest
 that winter
snaps at its heels
Lucy says,
“Time flies when you’re having fun.”
“As if you could kill time without injuring
eternity,” opines Thoreau.

What remains to place in store
 for children
 of a later year?
Will they know
 that we have
 walked our season?

Those million verses
 nostalgic
 sentimental
no harm to fill our senses
 with the memories
 with the images
They are our own
 to savor and enjoy

Yet…
 values
  tucked in
  next to the pumpkin pie
 beliefs
  shared
  on a walk down memory lane
 encouragement
  sprinkled with the sparks
  at fireside…
These a greater legacy
 for seasons yet to come