Bluff Song No. 1

Where the sumac burns its deep burgundy in Autumn,

And the eye-popping yellow oak leaves drift

Like dancing, whirling main sails torn from their masts

Left to fall and refresh the earth from which they rose,

We stop to drink in the cold, crisp air seasoned with wood smoke

From chimneys on brick houses full of warmth,

And dream of how the snow will soon blanket this canvas

So we can start to paint again.

This entry was posted in Poetry by bgm1969. Bookmark the permalink.

About bgm1969

This blog is updated by a guy who’s overweight, silly, Liberal, spiritual rather than religious, infatuated with beauty and grace, musically blessed, and always changing.

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