Summer left and in its place
Autumn thanked her with such grace:
A crimson blush at forest’s edge,
Bittersweet tangled in the hedge,
Wild grapes wither on the vine,
Long past sweet fermented wine.
Fragrant apples fall from the trees
Last flowers' honey wrought by bees.
Flights of geese, across the skies
Pierce the blue with wildling cries.
October left on cooling feet
The pond, a mirrored frozen sheet.
Julie Williams 2015
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