A Seasonal Review

There is a certain spot within my soul That craves an Autumn scene Before the Earth runs cold, And slippers Mother Nature In a wealth of bunny dust. A poet needs to sing of Spring, Once, before his book is closed; For all the best are lionized In bounded works of rambling prose. The fair thee wells of Summer love Give pause to thoughts of unplanned change, And roots an artist's pen to scribe The depth and breath of untold pain. For me, the orange, gold and red Are buffers in a life that eases Through the Autumn's righting days, And brings to you a willing heart That dances as the moonlight fades.