Friday, October 23, 2009
Wind, you no longer sigh, you moan
Your lilting voice of June is gone
As leaves in sad defeat reply
A rustling carpet ‘neath the sky
I pause upon the river’s brink
To watch the leaves drift by, and think
And as I look up to the sky
I catch the strain of a lullaby
It’s in the sighing of the leaves
The moaning wind through naked trees
The babble of the hastening brook
The whispers in a wood-land nook
It’s notes play in a minor key
A by-gone summer’s symphony
Solemn and mournful, just as I
Inhaling autumn’s lullaby
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There's no 'lullaby' in the wind this morning!
It's a cold, wet gale!
Bent on stripping the trees of autumn dress
Preparing for winters icy caress!