The Ballad of Fall

7










In scarlet, rust, and gold,
Stunners come forth in woods and roads
Enduring stories of grace in death unfold:
Humility is a thing of beauty—behold!






Meek polyps in pink, white, and light orange
Sway to the noteless music of ocean water
Following Luna so bright and gay:
Coral spawning is underway.






Bonfire, fireplace,
And warm embrace:
Comfort is in the air.
Doses of love are meant to be shared.






Pumpkins take the spotlight on Halloween
And Thanksgiving.
Vibrant beets, beans, and peas—
Harvest brings peace.






Brave snow geese pack the flock from Arctic Tundra,
Off to the greener pastures of South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida.
Casanovas in disguise, monarch butterflies bid sweet goodbye to Canada,
Take a joy ride in the air, hello California!






Tales of change in acoustic
Strumming, playing free of remorse,
Seizing the day—
Nature is bold taking place.









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September 

15








(Original date of publication: 09/23/2017, 2:13 P.M.)






Thee September,
You’re the March of fall–
I remember.







The true Seventh,
In thee,
Life defies death;
And death surrenders
To valiant memories.







Thee, September,
You’re the beloved
Harvest of Charlemagne’s.







In thee,
Petals bloom in rosegold;
While the soil shimmer in moss;
Crops beam in stunning hues amid their daunting fate
In the refrigerator.







Thee, September,
You’re the fairy godmother
Of forget-me-nots, morning glories, and asters.







In thee,
Those pretty blooms
Shine with silvers and sapphires in the dinner table–
I remember.







Thee, September,
You’re the year’s
Most gentle.







In thee,
Lavander and vanilla competes for the best scent
To win the purest heart
Of the meekest air we breathe–
I remember.







Thee, September,
You’re the crowning glory
Of Michael the Archangel.







In thee,
He cast the fallen in abyss of abyss;
While Heaven crowns the oceans and seas,
The faithful and hopeful,
The dreamers and doers of leis and wreaths . . .







. . . crafted by the humming angels
Who’ve been stalked
By dozing butterflies
Who’ve fallen
In want at first sight.







Thee, thee, September,
Oh, I remember.