Looking at Fall
“Looks like fall, don’t it?” and the old eyes scanned the sky...
Black billows of some snow clouds were scudding quickly by
And silently on tapered wing a brown hawk cut the air,
Gliding on the cold, brisk wind, freed from all earthly care.
The old man’s eyes took in the muted colors of the trees;
Stark against the sky they stood, now nearly bare of leaves.
Frost had touched the flowers, and fields of corn stood brown,
Though here and there a golden maple wore a crimson crown.
“Yep, sure does,” I answered, but my mind surged on ahead
To winter with its snow and cold which I so deeply dread.
“Live for today,” then comes to mind, and who said it was wise
And so I join the old man as his eyes still sweep the skies.
Jean, at 80, has been writing poems since she was 18. For 25 years she published a popular poetry quarterly of up to 100 pages, with a subscribership of nearly 500. Illness in 1986 ended the magazine. She currently publishes, by email, a 2-page monthly of clean humor. Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.