The land is laced in silver mist
And traced with russet scrim
The blue winds vex with brooding hex
That culls the laden limb
The brittle corn stands stiff, forlorn
Its fledgling verdure drained
June’s virgin sheen of knee-deep green
Is bronze and crimson-stained
The goldenrod is weaned of laud
The milkweed pod of silk
The pumpkin lords over all gourds
His jack-o-lantern ilk
Beneath high noon of azure swoon
The molten woodlands blaze
Before day’s husk drifts on swift dusk
And snuffs it from our gaze
Those garden-hikes are ghost-town-like
Through hollow orchards too
Stilled fallow lies beneath chilled skies
In slumber’s umber hue
Soft vesper cries its lullabies
Where nature’s naked tress
Turns whispers to a haunting tune
Of loss and loneliness
The land is kissed then lost in mist
Rain-song raids autumn scrim
The blue winds vex with moody hex
The singer of its hymn
© Janet Martin
Is there any month
quite like October
that tugs the lover of it
with such warring tides
of joy and grief?
