Autumn

So suddenly she came that year

in a swirl of colored skirts and leaves,

bringing with, her mother's gifts:

pumpkins, squash, and garden peas.

The trees turned out to greet her,

waving fine clad arms in fair salute,

upon each gold and red hung branch

a crown of cobwebs set with dew.

And near the hearth we gathered,

round the center of our tiny world,

with mugs of cider in our hands

to listen to the season girl.

Each eve she told a story,

weaving words into blue tapestries

that sometimes held the sky and

sometimes held the rolling sea.

But soon her eyes no longer danced

with twilight in their depths.

And when we asked her why,

instead of answering, she wept.

Next night, she spoke like time would

end below November's moon.

Her words were softly spoken,

each betraying what she knew.

Wrapped in a snowy cloak,

it wasn't long till Winter came,

his lithe, white form swept here

on sighs of bitter wind and rain.

So suddenly she came that year

in a swirl of colored skirts and leaves.

We never knew this time she'd stay,

at rest beneath the willow tree.