Fall:  1981

 

The golden, brownish reddish,  orange leaves, though withering, bear hidden life—

In panoramic beauty,

Their splendor for our pleasure,

As they fall from stalwart  trees in Autumn-tide

We gather them up in piles—

For cozy fires, warm.

 

We pluckkand fill our baskets full with nuts, pumpkins apples—

Plentiful fruit,

Rreadily ripe,

As we pick from bountiful orchards

As Autumn sighs.