Post by Sparrow on Sept 4, 2012 17:13:00 GMT -5
A few poems I have written about fall... I always feel a little sad at this time of year, although it is the most beautiful season where I live. "September" was written in 2010, the other two in 2011.
September
If not for September,
summer could not linger.
Chill winds would claim gentle days,
leaving no chance to mourn;
to savor summer's final flourish,
catching ones breath -
before turning to greet
the soulful splendor
of fall.
Melancholy
Where do my pretty cardinals go
when summer turns to fall?
What distant voices beckon
from beyond the garden wall?
My bluebirds know where they must go
to answer north wind's call,
and soar the sunlit passages,
sheltered from storm and squall.
My feathered friends leave frost behind
when summer turns to fall-
while I.... without the wings to fly,
can go nowhere at all.
A Song Subdued
(Spenserian Sonnet)
The summer insects sing a song subdued,
their joyful season's chorus now curtailed.
The hearty few who voice their cheerful mood
cling fiercely, as if summer had prevailed.
This morning brought a breath of frost, exhaled
upon the tapestry of grass and leaves,
and come the evening, fewer voices hailed
the darkness as they did on summer's eves.
At last, the chirping slows, each singer grieves,
for summer's balmy nights are spent and gone,
and one by one they still, as autumn weaves
a bleak tableau for frost to sketch upon.
The chilling winds of fall's arrival blow
through silent evenings, waiting for the snow.
September
If not for September,
summer could not linger.
Chill winds would claim gentle days,
leaving no chance to mourn;
to savor summer's final flourish,
catching ones breath -
before turning to greet
the soulful splendor
of fall.
Melancholy
Where do my pretty cardinals go
when summer turns to fall?
What distant voices beckon
from beyond the garden wall?
My bluebirds know where they must go
to answer north wind's call,
and soar the sunlit passages,
sheltered from storm and squall.
My feathered friends leave frost behind
when summer turns to fall-
while I.... without the wings to fly,
can go nowhere at all.
A Song Subdued
(Spenserian Sonnet)
The summer insects sing a song subdued,
their joyful season's chorus now curtailed.
The hearty few who voice their cheerful mood
cling fiercely, as if summer had prevailed.
This morning brought a breath of frost, exhaled
upon the tapestry of grass and leaves,
and come the evening, fewer voices hailed
the darkness as they did on summer's eves.
At last, the chirping slows, each singer grieves,
for summer's balmy nights are spent and gone,
and one by one they still, as autumn weaves
a bleak tableau for frost to sketch upon.
The chilling winds of fall's arrival blow
through silent evenings, waiting for the snow.
