MY LITTLE FALL POEM

When winter warns of midnight toil,

September is the twilight we treasure;

Guiding the days that do lie ahead,

Fall offers melodies, measured:

These gilded, crimson, soothing tunes,

Are guilty of indolent pleasures...

I pensively pluck at some

Alabaster bars, housed in a black wooden stage;

Such ivory keys store the promise of truth

When paused from the days' current rage...

Freed from their Waterford nest built of crystal,

Sprays of orange bittersweet spill;

They sway to the strikes of the

 Smooth metronome; click, click, be still...

Whimsical sheet-music stares back, declaring

"Of the Pinafore, I am Commander"!

It's then that my Grandmother hands me a

Butterscotch; I savor its rich, spicy amber.

Jalousie windows have opened quite wide,

Witnessing autumn's great beauty;

 Her shimmering breath embraces each note;

Caramelized air pays its duty.

BEHOLD,

The Buttercup verse: dainty and light;

It finally has come into view!

Grandmother, so wise and deft in her ways,

Has furnished a song I once knew...

Sweet little Buttercup! Dear little Buttercup !

You're lemony-gold like narcissus,

The crown of a king, a canary's fine wing;

Daffodils, warm and delicious.

 

At this time of year, the leaves shed a tear;

What do we make of such things?

Oh Camus! You nailed it! You knew all along:

Autumn IS Earth's

Second Spring !!!

poem by L.P.-G. / 9-2023