O heart! The rich, warm, rolling hills to the south
unfold as if they were the stars in bloom.
O soul; the marshes set afire, the clear scent of an old room
touching the crest of the red-leaved bird
that soars your skies to brush the walls of mere remembering,
and see, the gold flows out beneath you!
What of these? O, love! To know
the fingertips ungloved
of all the many autumn trees!
Above, the year's last thunderclouds cast spells of ruin
and below, we roar up laughter, singing:
"See? We laugh, it sounds like rain."
to know the fingertips ungloved...
ReplyDeleteexquisite.
your poem leads me tender-handed through autumn... a gorgeous link. thank you.
I really like this one, i hope you entered it in that contest!
ReplyDeletemy favorite part was the fingertips ungloved too. That was amazing!!
ReplyDeleteah beautiful poem of autumn...it is actually my favorite time of year...nice write!
ReplyDeletesuch a beautiful outlook on autumn - fingertips ungloved - wow!
ReplyDeleteautumn is my favorite time of the year, "singing see? We laugh it sounds like rain." Nothing like the seasons changing and the sound and feel of autumn rain!
ReplyDeletePerfection in prose, beautiful word smithing, creates powerful imagery to the tribute of our second spring brushed with color.
ReplyDeleteJoanny
this was lovely to go through.
ReplyDeletethank you for sharing it.
Thank you all so much! I'm so glad that you enjoyed this. :)
ReplyDelete-Dan H.
wonderful
ReplyDeletewe laugh, it sounds like rain.
sigh!
what autumns have you seen
to praise them so, you must be an old soul
I think I might be, Ellen. It would explain many things.
ReplyDeleteI've seen the autumns no one else has thought to look at though they come equally into the view of all.
-Dan H.