Fall poetry

By Thomas Page

Winged beasts interrupt peaceful autumn dreams.
Seams made of sandman’s dust torn asunder
Plunder the joy of Samhain’s carved lit gourds
Lords of mischief sew new fear and horror
Terror ruling the night ’till Saints daybreak.
Make haste to Harvest festivals, they say,
May you not know the devil’s wicked ways.
Haze settles over the land on All Hallow’s
Follows the trick-or-treaters on this night.
Light from these pumpkins was the nation weaned

Cool, misty nights of October wane slowly
Closely with the waxing moon. Candied fruits,
Roots of harvest festivals and church fairs,
Lairs of seasonal celebration there.
Where are the dying days described by Keats?
Meets the orange and red and yellow with fear
Here being the of his last days. Great poets
Know it as the end of beauty forever.
However, falling leaves don’t mean the end
Spend your autumn days not like the poor fool.