Gold

And birds fly south and birds fly south

Oh blessed season that marks my year to year

Beloved autumn, that starts my life anew and stops my mouth,

Renews my mind, my loves, my listening ear

My deepest, oldest thought, that blazoned longing comes again

Here into the melancholy of the hour I fall and find I'm home

The feelings I can't get to are torn apart at summer's end,

Rearranged into a watercolor of azure and honeycomb.

Each autumn, like the very vapor of this life, sits

Fleeting on the keen knife-edge of time

The sweetness of these days, or half of it

At least, is hidden in a shell of brevity, sublime

'Though summer's light and free, I love my tethers

That tie me to the world beyond this world

The Oldest Story murmurs through this weather

The light beyond the picture has been swirled

The creatures hide their nuts and burrow slowly

As crisp and frosty hours take their hold

Some fall asleep... but I awaken fully

This season, like the standing corn, is gold.

original poetry by Olivia