AUTUMN

 

The crystal raindrops falling

and the far-off snow geese calling

sound a warning

“Summer’s drawing to a close.”

 

Now the Autumn leaves turn golden

and the laughing summer children

hurry while the gates stand open

for one last ride.

 

Soon the ponies will stand silent

shrouded in their winter wrappings,

with their panoply of trappings

hidden from admiring view.

 

But the children will remember

even deep in cold December

and see reflected in the embers

the flash of sparkling eyes.

 

Then they’ll hear the lilting music

in their minds while tapping to it

little toes will strike a rhythm

set in bold three-quarter time.

 

 

There are carousels in places

where the summer never races

to the waiting arms of winter

bright with snow.

 

But they’re never held more dearly

or treasured more sincerely

than those who fly so briefly

in the fleeting summer sun.

 

c.2010, Donna Swanson