Autumnus you were named

Autumnus you were named by the Ancient of Days.

Your smell is of earth in hospice.

Flesh and bones decay to promise renewal.

Your cold breath strips leaves whose time has come

         and branches groan, It is time.  It is time.

You paint the earth with a pallet of blood tones.

You prepare the canvas for the white cloak of Winter.

We celebrate you with feasts and goblins.

You must forgive our childish prattle

       and tolerate our simpleton gestures.

We call you Fall out of our ignorance.

Your pulse promises resurrection.

It is time.

4 thoughts on “Autumnus you were named

  1. Oh, I love this, Berna! It’s so evocative, so thoughtful! Did you just write this, or pull it out of your storehouse?

    It reminds me of a similar poem I wrote about Autumn years ago. I’ll have to dig it up and post it.

    See? You are challenging me and bringing me out like no one else! Thank you!

    • I wrote it last week. Growing up, we learned the four seasons in their proper name. Here, I rarely see “autumn,” I think the last straw was “Fall Sale.” I can fall on my own, thank you. I don’t need to buy one. I get this from Richard, He always asks why people are selling their garage.

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