Ode to Autumn

Hints of Autumn’s grace
Blowing in on
Matthew’s trace

As I sit beneath Sir Hawk
Who’s just landed in the old laurel tree,
Summer’s last breath’s canopy

Cricket sounds quickly replace
The cicada songs of summer
As dusk rolls in without subtlety

Looking west at setting sun
Making prayers for fullness of Autumn’s grace
To whisper in upon the whooshing remnant winds of Sir Matthew

Relief such as brought
By the verdant grass of Whitman,
A psalm to lift this sentient September soul
From the humidity it rests in.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, October, 2016

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