An Autumn Day

An autumn day is like a psalm of praise,
A whispered sigh, a half forgotten smile,
The blending of a dozen different shades
Of gold and brown along each pensive mile.
A melody whose words the mind forgets,
Echoes through the rustling of the leaves,
Too deep to penetrate, the sacred hush,
Of moments such as these when one believes.

Standing on the threshold of the heart,
The scarlet maples flaming on a hill,
    Recalling other hours long ago,
How can one bid such memories be still?
 Something very wise and beautiful,
Lives in the yearly rendezvous of Fall,
A tangled trail. . . a touch of dandelion,
...One lone bird call.
 Grace E. Easley

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