Meadows are flowering.
Red blushes against the green.
Brunette is tinted with gold.
Streaks of silk settle on the trees.
Frost lusters the ground
under the maples.
A golden book is gathered
in your hands from the earth.
Poems of sun, evening showers,
asters opening at dawn.
Autumn with brown eyes
as enchanting as your own.
Lips pursed, as if life itself
is a kiss, to be taken and returned.
You are autumn.
You are my heart.
A girl collecting buckeyes.
Sophisticated, with spring
and summer in your voice,
concert in the autumn.
Bouquet of autumn flowers
on my table,
where my autumn poem has fallen.