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WRITING: Poetry: Autumn

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11 March 2009, 08:21 PM    #1
Joined: 11 Mar 2009
Posts: 212

Autumn is the season I love best,
Between Summer's frenzy and Winter's rest,
The leaves abandon the trees and fall,
Fall, fall, fall,
Turning and forsaking them naked in the breeze,
So that their shame can be seen by the whole world,
Their nude outstretched reaching fingers,
Stretching for the warmth again but finding only cold,
It's like when you're sleepy but the mind it lingers,
Upon the events of the day when your body was at play,
But now like a child who should be sleeping in bed,
She wants me to read her a story instead.

Yes, Autumn is my favorite time of the year,
I love to walk along the road until I near,
Some open field where straw has been stacked in piles,
The smell of smoking leaves drifts across the miles,
And captures me as I stand holding the rail,
Gazing at an orange purple sun swoon and faint,
And fall, fall, fall,
Shifting light reveals how God paints,
Each surface, each shadow from a palette of Earth,
Yellows, reds, oranges, browns, greens, grays and whites,
I love to stand looking at the moon on those Autumnal nights,
A full moon haloed by a giant ice ring,
An omen of the snow that Winter brings,
But right at this moment I am comfy in my sweater,
Give me a cup of cocoa with those little marshmallows,
And truly life doesn't get much better.

In the Autumn, the leaves crunch beneath my feet,
I like to mound their crackling bodies in piles neat,
And then I make tunnels and pretend I'd built a fort,
Who gave me these walls of this castle for my sport?
I had not asked or begged that they be given,
Yet someone shook these gifts from heaven,
But I don't think about it as I run and jump and leap,
And fall, fall, fall,
Spreading them, being swallowed, baptized by the heap,
And when I emerge tangled with leaves stuck in my hair,
I hope to be grateful and appreciate them there.

Autumn is the time of great harvesting,
Our reward paid for the planting in the Spring,
We then see our work and toiling wasn't moot,
When in the Autumn we taste at last our labour's fruit,
All the damp of April and the oppressive heat of June,
Fades beneath the glow of a plentiful pumpkin moon,
All the pain that we felt when the rain would break
And fall, fall, fall,
That's all gone now and in the end we understand the reason,
That loving the seed and nurturing it for love's sake,
Is what is truly important,
Everything else will come in due season.
(1998, revised 1999)

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