Autumn Morning

Autumn Morning

The sun edges its way over the pines, green still,

Over the river,

Where mists hover like ghosts.

And the grass

Strewn with day old leaves,

Glistens with new frost.

In the space of a week the colors have gone

From green to the

Gold and red of shortened days.

Leaves cling

Defying the northern wind

That will strip them to earth.

Branches like old hags fingers reach skyward, 

Stark and grey.

Stripped of their colored robes

Like Joseph.

Praying for a soft snow

To blanket their naked limbs.