The Crisping Days of Autumn
Petals are withering on late blooming roses
My Summer garden is beginning to fade
Maples are shedding their last clinging leaves
Amber fields are ready for Fall's gathering
There's a faint chill wafting in the air.
I call it the crisping days of Autumn
and the first hint of a seasonal change
My pastoral view is worthy of a painting
Tomorrow, I'll sketch the visions before me
layers of bold colors as I walk down the lane.
I hear the wind traveling through bare limbs
It seems to be whistling a lively gypsy tune
A song that brings out the wanderer in me
making me quite envious of geese on wing,
honking as they quickly travel south bound.
A stag proudly stands atop the hill
reigning like a king in antlered crown
His warm breath exhaled in a clouded mist
Happy he's caught the attention of a doe.
Autumn has always awakened the artist in me
with its bold palette of crimson, umber and gold
Ruffled russet gowns, once adorning tree limbs
lay wrinkled and scattered across the forest floor
Brushes and canvas await my hand.
It's decor is a kaleidoscope of colors
From sketches I'll paint Autumnal scenes
It's a gift Nature generously offers to me.
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