Yellow leaves still cling to roadside willows,
The wind, darkly erratic, is edged with chill;
Burgundy twilight hovers over western Promotories,
Evening's sky is solid: impending, impenetrable,
unyieldingly Gray.

Yet Summer lingers: a fleeting effervescence
Felt inwardly like Cold within the bone--
An almost beast-like response--whooping of cranes,
Barking of wild geese--a commemoration of
the South.

And unhindered, huddling 'neath hanging
Swaying branches, in Voice less than whisper,
More like breath, we know the allure, hesitation,
And harmonize instinctively in the Song
of Autumn.

11/08/2004

Author's Note: another revision

Posted on 11/09/2004
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes