Our Lady Autumnus
A vision of radiance is she, under the rage-red
canopy,
her arms spread wide to embrace natures matricide.
Sparks fly from her golden crown in the fading
sunlight
dappling down, into amber eyes flecked with umber-brown.
Her laughter, a rich and rapturous sound, echoes
through
forests, fields and towns; branches swirl and
grasses sway,
leaves dance to her song before breaking away,
to join our lady in her moment, her day.
Copper, bronze and gold adorn her flowing
gown,
enchanted is she who reaps the ground.
Her tresses fall in waves aflame to lick voluptuous
hips,
and kiss her bosom of milky-white, iridescent as the
moon,
in the crackling bonfire light.
Tangerine, claret and coffee leaves, rustle and tumble
in the cool northern breeze, cascading from the
trees
they gather in her wake, a resplendent bridal
train
they make - as they rake - upturning her
perfume;
it ravishes the air in a synthesis of all she
forebears:
toadstool musk wafts from the wet soil’s must;
tart-sweet apples ferment in ruddy husks;
beds of pine burn as wood-smoke churns;
chestnuts, pumpkin and pecan pies, fruits,
berries
and spiced wines, indulgent cinnamon, nutmeg
and
clove, marinate with maple, elm and oak.
Our hostess of harvest lays down her shrine,
a woodland table, a banquet fresh from the vine.
A bouquet of poppies, the flower of her time,
sits reverent at the centre of her feast so sublime.
Her ambient splendour, her harmony, her
life-time,
she gives to us by omniscient design.
Nature’s ripe essence in her prime, she is
incandescent, our dear lady Autumnus, divine.
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