As a young thrush in first flight,
or unsteady lamb down mountain rock…
So Nature falls from lofty heat
into Autumn and her bed of sunset garlands
then galloping on Aeolus’s Steeds, turns
north to the slow, transfixing kisses of Frost
But, falling, her clouds wreath blue horizons
and aires of festival entreat
ever to taste her faithful bounty
and beckon to free her laden vines
This work, unless otherwise expressly stated, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
