A garden, abandoned and wild –
liberated from man's designs –
basks in each summer day.
Then soon arrives November's chill –
and bitter winds and evening frost
mean winter's on the way.
The goldenrod – its treasure spent
in wild and wanton revelries –
retires in shades of buff.
The aster drops its purple fringe –
its yellow center detonates
into a soft, beige puff.
The milkweed's blushing, perfumed blooms
give way to tasseled seeds that sail
above a pale tableau.
Autumnal hues once warm and strong,
fade slowly from the cooling scene,
soon to be blanched by snow.
November 2020
(from the book Longing For The Light by Doris Potter)
© Doris Potter
I have no idea why you would post that now. 😉
ReplyDeleteThanks for the chuckle, Anvilcloud.
DeleteLovely post and pictures. xx
ReplyDeleteThanks for this nice comment Flighty.
DeleteYou've captured a bit of autumn in your beautiful words.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much messymimi.
Delete