The Circle.

Autumn colors rain around your hollow bed.

Where the ground is dipped just for you, molds only for you.

The trees high above ever tower over your resting place, and cover you gently with fallen leaves each year.

You remember it fondly.

How many years has it been? In this quiet, peaceful place?

The wind is getting colder, masking the scent of fall, but you don't mind,

Seasons change, but your rest continues.

Snow and sunshine, rain and storms.

Each of them can be enjoyed in their own way.

You feel the people around you, who are like you.

You cannot hear them.

They are silent, like you.

In their earthen beds.

But their presence is as continuous and comfortinng as always.

You who make the circle, in the trees, in the middle of the woods,

Which is meant only for you.

You close your eyes and and sleep,

and wonder which season it will beisea s when you wake up.