9-24 Autumn

9-24

The forest is so magic in the fall.
There’s not a time that I would rather stroll
Along this high and lonely mountain pass.
The melancholy breezes in the trees
Remind me of this season’s great allure
When, starting in the valley all the trees
Begin to show and lose their falling leaves.
When golden evening light begins to play
Upon one’s face, at closing of the day,
The time of year when Keats most comes to mind,
When ‘mid the groves of aspens one does find
A golden blanket, carpeting the earth
Reminding us of what is after birth.
The skies are blue but cooled by the wind
Whose mournful feeling can be sensed in each
And every place through which I stroll and think
About the memories of this season’s last
Grand spectacle of colors, leaves, and forms
Which place me in a solitary mood;
A friend of books, telling of days of old,
Of pensive contemplation of the works,
Of Nature, and the boundless Universe.