Thousands of volumes
Millions of verses
line the shelves
of libraries
book stores
stacked away in attics
Poems of autumn
scents…
spicy wild flowers
decaying leaves
apples
pumpkin pie
sights…
golden rod
purple iron weed
joe pye
birds
packed for a trip south
sounds…
turkeys chirp in the woods
crackling fires
tractors turning tufts of summer down
savors…
grapes
new potatoes
cider
sensations…
chill after summer sweats
noses tickled by ragweed pollen
What about the country festivals?
What about the craft fairs?
Need I elaborate?
All these images…
overdone
sometimes trite
Autumn rather may suggest
that winter
snaps at its heels
Lucy says,
“Time flies when you’re having fun.”
“As if you could kill time without injuring
eternity,” opines Thoreau.
What remains to place in store
for children
of a later year?
Will they know
that we have
walked our season?
Those million verses
nostalgic
sentimental
no harm to fill our senses
with the memories
with the images
They are our own
to savor and enjoy
Yet…
values
tucked in
next to the pumpkin pie
beliefs
shared
on a walk down memory lane
encouragement
sprinkled with the sparks
at fireside…
These a greater legacy
for seasons yet to come
