Autumn’s Song

Fragments of a summer spent
caught up in November wind,
Teeny weeny yellow polka dots
swim past the eyes.

A broken sign reminding of
shallow water and submerged rocks,
falling stars and the scent of sea roses
sweetening the air,

Button mums are blooming somewhere.
The morning is golden. I open
the silverware drawer to baby spoons
and mismatched sets.

Monograms morph into memories
from a walk-up to a broad expanse of lawn;
forsythia seldom grows in window boxes.
Dreams never failed me, only expectations.

If I could pick any life, I’d pick this one.


4 thoughts on “Autumn’s Song

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s