Nearing Fifty

In springtime
my early years were budding
with grand elation adding
every birthday celebration.

But on this third of October
ripening past forty eight
I understand, the starting line,
in light of heaven's gate.

And I can now identify
and feel the "why"
of Autumn's golden trees.

I see my life for what has passed
And what yet needs to be.

If life's span is measured for a man
by his father's longivity
there's not but left a little more than score for me.

At forty eight, I celebrate
the splendid state where summer joy
and cold repose embrace.

My life is mostly green,
but beautified by orange and gold
reflections in the stream.

Another year, another leaf has fallen
softly to the earth--
a whisper of mortality
and hope's eternal birth.

"How Beautiful!
"How Beautiful!"
"This is my favorite season!"