The Golden Light of Autumn
Makes no promises, declares no eternal love
The golden light of Autumn is never false.
It makes no promises.
Declares no eternal love.
With every shifting breeze it shimmers,
gleaming with such beguiling light
that the most hardened eyes grow moist
with desire for what cannot be held by force,
convinced by the most ardent kiss,
nor restrained by any prayers.
The golden glow of October is the last soft light
before the tungsten grip of winter
freezes the pulse of soil and sky.
But that last tender gift of Autumn,
sweet as wild honey poured from an earthen pot,
ignites us always with the ache and pleasure of passing love.
No matter how many times I see the light of October glowing in the Autumn woods, I have to stop and catch my breath. Each season, each month has its beauty. But the gold that ignites every leaf on a bright, clear October day always brings me to tears. So grateful to see it once again. Knowing how brief and precious these luminous days will be.
If you enjoyed this poem, you might also like another poem I have written about Autumn:
