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