In russet hints it tints the tress
That broke and stoked spring’s happiness
It gleams in streams of goldenrod
And jars beaming with garden-laud
It stirs in blurs of burnished plume
That furnished earth with bud, then bloom
It drops in orchard thoroughfares
Plop-plop of plums, apples and pears
It croons in noon’s less savage heat
In cricket’s thinning tweet-tweet-tweet
In corn-rows rigid infantry
More brittle than they used to be
It bulges from dawn’s dew-pearled port
Indulges the spectator’s sport
Where wonder and worship entwine
Like tendrils from the pole-bean vine
It throbs in musky, dusky dust
And sobs in secret wanderlust
It folds the day in molten hues
Yet holds at bay certain adieus
It twinkles in wild aster stars
And other buttered, bumbled bars
And scrawls upon a tousled wall
Little love-notes of Almost Fall
© Janet Martin
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!