Before Autumn

Summer's last moon has waned-- Waned As amber fires Of an Aztec shrine. The invisible breath of coming death has stained The withering leaves with its nepenthean wine-- Autumn's near.

Winds in the woodland moan-- Moan As memories Of a chilling yore. Magnolia seeds like Indian beads are strewn From crimson pods along the earth's sere floor-- Autumn's near.

Solitude slowly steals, Steals Her silent way By the songless brook. At the gnarly yoke of a solemn oak she kneels, The musing joy of sadness in her look-- Autumn's near.

Yes, with her golden days-- Days When hope and toil Are at peace and rest-- Autumn is near, and the tired year 'mid praise Lies down with leaf and blossom on her breast-- Autumn's near.