Autumn Ode
by Wilda Morris

Some say before the fall of Adam
it was always spring:
trout lilies and trillium in bloom,
lilacs spreading their perfume,
young squirrels romping
on the branches of budding trees.
That would not be Paradise for me.
I would not surrender autumn’s
crimson, scarlet and gold
for Eden’s perpetual green;
would not trade the crush of fallen leaves
beneath my feet for bluebells,
or peaches ripe on the tree
or pussy willow and pansy.
Although chill October breeze
presages winter’s ice and winds,
I welcome everything
that autumn brings.



 

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