Autumn Gold - Harp

Autumn Gold
by Gladys Harp

I am rich today with autumn's gold,
All that my covetous hands can hold;
Frost-painted leaves and goldenrod,
A goldfinch on a milkweed pod,
Huge golden pumpkins in the field
With heaps of corn from a bounteous yield,
Golden apples heavy on the trees
Rivaling those of Hesperides,
Golden rays of balmy sunshine spread
Over all like butter on warm bread;
And the harvest moon will this night unfold
The streams running full of molten gold.
Oh, who could find a dearth of bliss
With autumn glory such as this!

Autumn - Borland

Autumn is the eternal corrective. It is ripeness and color and a time of maturity; but it is also breadth, and depth,
and distance. What man can stand with autumn on a hilltop and fail to see the span of his world and the meaning
of the rolling hills that reach to the far horizon?

© Hal Borland -- Harold "Hal" Glen Borland (1900 - 1978)

Vintage Postcard of the week...

Leaves - Brady

Leaves
by Elsie N Brady

How silently they tumble down
And come to rest upon the ground
To lay a carpet, rich and rare,
Beneath the trees without a care,
Content to sleep, their work well done,
Colors gleaming in the sun.

At other times, they wildly fly
Until they nearly reach the sky.
Twisting, turning through the air
Till all the trees stand stark and bare.
Exhausted, drop to earth below
To wait, like children, for the snow.

Autumn - Riser

Autumn
by Carol L Riser

When the trees their summer splendor
Change to raiment red and gold,
When the summer moon turns mellow,
And the nights are getting cold;
When the squirrels hide their acorns,
And the woodchucks disappear;
Then we know that it is autumn,
Loveliest season of the year.

---

This lithograph art hung on the wall over the sofa in my grandmother's home once upon a memorable time - it is as familiar to me as the smell of her cookies baking.

Sexy Saturday Pinup Witch

For All Souls Day

Soul Cake

Olde Celtic Chant

Soul! Soul! Or a soul cake;
Pray, good mistress, for a soul cake
One for Peter, two for Paul
Three for them that made us all.
Soul! Soul! Or an apple or two;
If you've got no apples, pears will do.
Up with your kettle, and down with your pan
Give me a good big one, and I'll be gone.
Soul! Soul! Or a soul cake;
An apple or pear, a plum or a cherry,
Is a very good thing to make us merry.
Soul! Soul! Or a soul cake.

Is it haunted?

November comes - Watson

November Comes

By Clyde Watson (1947-)

November comes
And November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.

With night coming early,
And dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
And frost by the gate.

The fires burn
And the kettles sing,
And earth sinks to rest
Until next spring.

© Clyde Watson

All Saint's Day - Lindbergh

All Saint's Day

circa 1972
by Anne Morrow Lindbergh (1906-2001)

Today no breath
Of life's allowed
For Autumn spins
Her silken shroud,

Thread upon thread
The earth is bound
(November's needle
Makes the round).

No wind may lift
The fallen leaf,
No flower, split
The face of grief.

No flight of birds
Distracts the eye
Across the smooth
Unravelled sky,

So still the day,
So pure, so bare;
Imprisoned in
Her crystal stare,

Earth waits a miracle --
Man too;
This is the day
All saints pass through.