There is antediluvian power
in the flood of leaves,
the scrimshaw of words
on their pages.
Each with the victory
of an ancient creed.
Poems, still as children
before their birth.
The tango of time
pausing, then swirling.
I have seen a crown of gold
circle about your head.
Leaves as yellow as the
honey of summer,
anointing its fragile queen.
A blizzard of yellow,
as if the trees
were a storm whistling
in daylight.
That is you in your autumn realm.
That is you,
forever imprinted
in the majesty of your youth.
Coming, season by season,
in a coronation of hope
and beauty.
Spring comes quietly.
But autumn
is a joy of carousel and song.
The last burst of red geraniums,
wan violets teased into bloom
before winter.
And you, ageless
as the release of autumn’s glory,
dear girl,
who is a princess queen.
Destiny in love.
Before we sleep winter away.