Blessings on the autumn, falling
Down like leaves upon the withered
Grass. And chances, echoes calling;
Moments sped — decisions dithered —
All of this, just happenstance and fate:
For tides at last must needs abate.
Do you feel the arm of solace
Stretching out across the hills?
None of us who breathe are flawless,
For the wind blows as it wills,
And chills will come when we’re exposed, ungloved —
But you, my child, are known, and you are