Autumn Song
With the advent of the Autumn
Trees behave as Nature taught 'em;
Maple, Sumach, Plum and Poplar, and the Chestnut known as Horse,
Ere they shed the Summer fashion,
Break into a perfect passion
Of sweet rivalry in color (if deciduous, of course).
Autumn comes, and Claret Ashes,
Liquidambars, showing splashes
From her palette, don the motley - Joseph's coats of many a hue:
Russet-red and golden-yellow
As the season waxes mellow.
As for me, like certain gum-trees, I perversely grow more blue.
I would quaff in ample measure
Every draught of Autumn's pleasure
Were it not a grim foreboding spreads its color thro' the mind.
And I know that Autumn breezes
Bring the first hint of the wheezes;
For, when Fall the Summer follows, Winter is not far behind.
Would I were like lucky mortals
Who, with Winter at the portals,
Shed their ills like Autumn leaves and welcome days of snow and ice.
Still, why not accept the present?
Fall brings favors amply pleasant.
Seat me - Ishoo! - id the sudlight. Autumb cad be very dice.
Not guilty, yer Honor . . . An' givin' me reasons,
I'd like for to plead this ‘ere change in the seasons,
Plus one flamin' goat with a terrible silly
Great grin on ‘is map wot ‘ud drive a man dilly
‘E lobs in me shop an' - "Is this enough rain for yeh?"
Honest yer Honor, I'd like to explain for yeh,
‘Twas n't ‘is tone, or ‘is talk of the weather
And ‘twas n't ‘is grin; but the whole lot together.
"This enough rain for yeh?" Stands there inquirin',
As if this ‘ere rain's the one thing I'm desirin'.
"Wet, ain't it?" ‘e grins, with ‘is mackintosh leakin'
All over me carpit . . . it's justice I'm seekin'
Plain justice, yer Honor. I wonder I'm sober.
You know ‘ow it poured thro' the whole of October,
Then floods in November - an' this ‘eathen image
Sez, "Rain enough for yeh?" That started the scrimmage.
"Wet, ain't it?" ‘e sez. Can a man claim I wrongs ‘im
Right there in me shop, when I ups an' I dongs ‘im?
For I done al me cash - as ‘e well must remember,
The coot - in this ‘ere ice-cream joint last September.
Yes, ice-cream, yer Honor. Cool drinks - then this weather
An' ‘im, an' ‘is talk, an' ‘is grin all together
Well - a man can stand so much. I ain't prone to fightin',
But, if a fine must be, well, make it a light ‘un.
Autumn Interlude
I said goodbye to the bees last Friday week,
To blooms, and to things like these, for Winter bleak
Was shouting loud from the hills, and flinging high
His gossamer net that fills frail Autumn's sky.
So I said goodbye to the bees; for I knew that soon
I should bask no more 'neath the trees on some high noon
And hark to the drowsy hum close overhead.
For the cold and rain must come, now Summer's dead.
So I wallowed a while in woe and wooed unease;
And I rather liked it so; for it seemed to please
Some clamoring inner urge - some need apart,
And I felt self-pity surge, here, in my heart
As I said goodbye to the bees, my tireless friends
Who toil mid the flowers and the trees till daylight ends
Who toil in the sun, yet seem to find no irk,
While I loll in the shade and dream; for I do love work.
Ah, fate and the falling leaf! How dear is woe.
How subtly sweet is grief (Synthetic). So
I said goodbye to the bees; and then I wrote
This crown of threhodies, while in my throat
I choked back many a sob and salt tears spent.
But I felt I'd done my job, and was content.
For I'd penned my piece to the bees - the poet's tosh
Of the Autumn's drear unease. Ah, me! Oh, gosh!
I said goodbye to the bees last Friday week....
Then the tempest shook the trees, the swollen creek
Went thundering down to the plain, the wind shrieked past,
And the cold, and the wet, wet rain were here at last....
Then, a hot sun, scorning rules, shone forth, alack!
And those blundering, blithering fools, the bees came back,
Humming a song inance in the rain-washed trees. . . .
Now it's all to do again. . . . Oh, blast the bees!
