Listen to poem:
Autumn's Epistle
Written: August 22, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Regina McIntosh
Quote: "How beautifully leaves grow old; how full of light and color are their last days." By John Burroughs
The pine lines blur; the sun-rays drop and fade.
Across these fields, thick clouds have thrown their shade.
In twilight dusk, a mist of mellow grace—
Folds down, and wraps the world in cold embrace.
A death-sigh stirs the branches of the trees;
Some aged, hushed curse blows inland from the seas.
Under starlight, have a moment to pause—
Black spaces tear above us, clear out maws.
Bare twigs are whipped and broken in the gale;
That salt-spit from the water turns them pale.
The last few frozen flowers nod and bow—
Those bruised blue petals—just a sign of woe.
The summer songs are dead in this display;
Raw, barred-iron ridge chokes the dying day.
Time takes a cruel turn to seal our fate—
A firm, gray freeze is scratching at the gate.
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