by Adelaide Crapsey
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees
by Carl Sandburg
I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman,
the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things
come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go,
not one lasts.
Related post: Leaf prints
The autumn leaves are spectacular right now:
But what’s been catching my attention lately are the subtler, shadowy prints left behind by the leaves on the sidewalk.
I’m holding on tight to these last days of Autumn. I’ll miss the crisp weather tempered by the warm sun. I’ll miss the spectacular kaleidoscope of colors…
Here’s a link to a lovely autumnal poem: Fall, by Edward Hirsch at the poets.org website.
You can subscribe (for free) to The Academy of American Poets’ “Poem a Day” on the poets.org website to have a poem like this one sent to your email address every day.