by James Walters
I have heard the autumn's burnished mountainside
Bristle in the crisp breeze,
Crackle in the light of October mornings,
Clear as innocence, vibrant with the harvest
Promised in the wind.
Cider sweet aroma glides through orchards ripe.
Pumpkins, plump and dewy, blushing wild and bright,
Whisper soft reminders, spiraling in my mind;
Images I believed I had left behind;
Till I heard the autumn's silky serenade...
Of the love I treasured;
Of the love you gave.