Autumn rolls past wide-flung vestibules where
We press our faces against bullish air
Like children, eager to experience
More; we press to beckoning vantage points
To hear old favorites played with new strings
Motley ensemble of minstrels; earth sings
The Choir Master to this orchestra
Startles spectators, rousing holy awe
First timorous tempo intensifies
Bronze, burgundy and sienna replies
Until each hollow and hillside is stirred
Joining an anthem too wondrous for word
Majestic montage of bashful and bold
Avid arrangements of russet and gold
Splashes of copper and sepia thread
Whisper of amber and baritone red
Passionate, ardent, out-pouring of praise
Rolls past our wide-eyed and word-wanton gaze
Subtle, the sorrel choral softening
Here a voice falters and there a snapped string
Contagious as the first flowering wood
One by one, more and more chords are subdued
The Maestro moves with intangible ease
As he approves the dismissal of leaves
Autumn moves past wide-flung vestibules where
Order erases leaf-song from its air
We press our faces to places bereft
Of its fullest flower; time-power is deft
Still, on the hill a few songsters remain
Strumming the postlude of autumn’s refrain
© Janet Martin
