Nostalgia

The trees stand

motionless as though

a sound has conquered

the light, and one

can feel

the soft warmth

of breezes that drift

of yellow and red,

dancing on leaves.

A sweetness rules

the yard as tomorrows

have bled

into our history.

Time does for us

as it will

the night is ours,

and our shadows leap

to the sprawling

flower beds.

This is our place,

a doorway of light.

Open as always.

We will not fade.

• William Carlos Williams