Were I an artist of easel
And could I paint fair nature’s scene
I’d choose September’s tarnished sprawl
Of dusty blue and burnished green
And if my palette would but hold
One shade, I think I would choose gold
The gold of harvest, not yet gleaned
Of heavy sunlight gently screened
By not-quite-gold of maple leaf
I’d paint the gold of cornstalk sheaf
And golden-rod, sun-flower bloom
The gold of honeyed afternoon
The walnut leaf that stilly falls
Where summer fades and cricket calls
I’d paint the gold of late-day hush
The hill of parched and tangled brush
Where once we watched springtime unfold
Before earth traded green for gold
Gold-golden pear and golden tea
Canvas of golden memory
Ah, sweet September languishing
Against a summer wearying
Where every shade within its hold
Before it fades must pass through gold
© Janet Martin
