Autumn lingers in the wood,
Where the dappled sunshine stood,
August, August, now a dream,
As yellow leaflets downward stream.
Violent blues in airy sky,
Brightest hues from heavens high,
Six days made and called it good,
With a brush not seen by eyes.
And the harvest gold and kind,
Waves forever in my mind,
When in Autumn I should spy,
Shocks and stalks and pumpkin vines.
Then should my eyes drift on up,
To the fleeing Vs of ducks,
I'll think in what lands they'll find,
Spark'ling warmth from sunshine's cup.
Yet then the bite, cool and crisp,
Reminds me now where I live,
North of South and North has won,
Autumn's gone and Winter's come.
Autumn lingers in the wood,
Where the dappled sunshine stood,
Back in August, now I dream,
Yellow leaflets downward stream.
YOU ARE READING
The Quiet Strangers
PoetrySometimes I think poems are like quiet strangers in the corner of the room waiting to be known. Only when time is taken to approach them is their richness revealed. Here you will find poems on nature, loss, hope, and the soul. Simple topics some mig...
