The grass on the hills is golden
the bean fields are amber
and the corn stubble are is like Rumpelstiltskin's spinning-straw
The golden hours of dawn and dusk stretch out
leaving barely an hour of clear-blue noon
glazing the entire day with honey.
The red and orange leaves are gone
or faded to sepia
leaving the trees taupe or warm-grey
just a few yellow ones cling on
to avoid a fate in the foul fires
or the compost pile.
Candles have started to warm our homes' decor
and French fried onions decorate the green been casserole
and the roasted turkey's skin glints like polished brass.
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1 comment:
boy, I really liked that one this morning when I first wrote it, but now that I've posted it here I really think it's pretty cheesy. Shoot.
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