Sonnet 50: Umbria in Autumn

by marc f. weigand | for linda kirby mewshaw and michael mewshaw

Below the Umbrian hilltops, mugged by mourning fog,

the regiments of ripe tobacco fields unravel green

where all the delicate courtiers of this autumn draw

vermillion coverlets upon the naked bed of summer,

arrange the mortal liveries of their gold estate

as heralds to the kingdom of our winter.

Here, in these fallowing fields, lies all there is to know

of death and life - that every future comes to bathe

and bloom in the fertile blood of its tragic past, and yield

to the moment, this, the holy seed of Now.

All this appears as a face or figure frescoed on a wall,

and these survive and serve as a balm to the death of years.

Here are the stillness of columns and painted saints,

where the bells of heaven toll, as only they can hear