Whispers Of Autumn

Beneath the sunset snug upon blue hills the stalks of corn a standing army gold but long, their shadows fall like swords that stills a weary legion cold with growing old. Like soldiers dug in trenches they hold ground —so holy. They hug their summer-season-dreams of youth. The sun, their crown, now spurns them burned and browned —unholy! Nor’easters shred what’s left with claw and tooth. Oh, solstice rays were sweet as sugar maize, the shadows short as days were long. The throng of lazy mornings bathed in earthbound haze ah, leaves raised higher by the evensong. September swans press wings in hum against the freeze a whisper to the rooted to concede to Autumn’s seize.