The Whispers of Autumn
The rush of wind c h u r n s sported leaves of fall,
charming the r u s t i c path so warm and cold.
A u t u m n a l gal whispers in brief e n t h r a l.
S e v e r i t y of chill is c r o u c h i n g bold.
Pumpkins don’t scream when scooped of seeds and fruit.
The hush of f l i t t i n g eyes, f l a m i n g with oils,
f r i g h t e n the dark, the b l a c k e s t cats recruit,
And bring to mind c h a r c o a l-c a l d r o n that boils.
I worry n o t of l a t e s h a d o w s of a g e.
Skulk-stares s h u d d e r when sight is lit with peace.
I iron n o t my w r i n k l y smile, my s a g e.
In Autumn’s a c e, serpent’s r e c o i l and c e a s e.
Ruby, amber, and b i t t e r s w e e t, the s h a p e s.
The gentlest c r u n c h and flung football e s c a p e s.
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