Mist Upon The Placid Morn

Bleed out your beauty, Autumn – Give up a gentle wrist, and smear Your bloody hues atop the green. Cast a calming throw of heady peace Upon the cooling land. And as you grant the sun a final fling of warmth, Charge the silent air (Now lolling on a foliar deathbed) With earthen whiff to intimate the fungal push. Soon you’ll send a shiver down the watery spine of Quivering ponds, punctual brooks, and Listless lakes, to warn them of the freeze to come. Behold! your mellow spirit Hanging as a mist upon the placid morn – A sight that draws a sneaking tear or two – forlorn Observers are we all of colder climes to view! Autumn Lady, must you be the summer waning –? Our adieu to fairer-weather life? Ah well, at least you hum a warming tone, ensuring Nature’s rhythm still abounds. But now you must prepare the mind for chilly times – You know the drill – Guiding us along a sloping path To ease our psyche in to sleet and snow – The blue-ice bite of winter. Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010 nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature nature