An Autumn Poem in Honor of my Husband, the English Teacher.

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain'd

With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit

Beneath my shady roof; there thou mayst rest,

And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,

And all the daughters of the year shall dance!

Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

"The narrow bud opens her beauties to

The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;

Blossoms hand round the brows of Morning, and

Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,

Till clust'ring Summer breaks forth into singing

And feather'd clouds strew flowers round her head.

"The spirits of the air live in the smells

of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round

The gardens, or sits singing in the trees."

Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat,

Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak

Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.

William Blake says it far better than I.  I need to look no further than the light filtering through the orange lace on the trees in my search for inspiration.  If you have a photo of your own that captures the golden load of Autumn, please post them to this blog and share your inspiration with us!