TOAST THE AUTUMN

TOAST THE AUTUMN

These mornings I awake, barefoot in my sweats,
And feel the cool sensation as it moves across the room,

Mother Nature’s plan right on time and set,
As she sits majestically, a lady at her loom.

I rise and toast the autumn, this change of seasons grand,
And hold each crunchy, precious leaf in the palm of my shaking hand.

I think upon the winter, in all its snowy fury,
The Christmas shoppers in the malls, frazzled in a hurry,
And I think on how we loved the summer in all its heat and haze,
And how the springtime thrilled us with its rosebuds on parade.

I long to walk with carefree bliss, on the sidewalks of this town,
Long before the sun comes up and throws its weight around.
And feel the cool pavement as it tickles my eager feet,
As the day creeps in like a blessing, slow and ever sweet.

I long to breathe in crispness, the coolness of the shade,
When these nights were made for sleeping and waking unafraid.

I long to visit memories that echo in our past,
The foreign soil we’ve walked upon, our cares and worries cast.

That springtime trip to Paris, the recollection grand,
Of dreams that met their triumph in a lover’s late night plans.

Then I dream of the beach and those summer days,
Where we wore next to nothing and walked in the haze.
A thousand sand castles crafted with care,
Thrilling with the awe and the wonderment there.

And now we are back to autumn once more,
Jack Frost in his vestibule outside the door.

We rise and toast the colors, the changing of the leaves,
The grand old ceremonial of bringing in the sheaves.
We rise and toast this precious fall, this change of seasons grand,
And hold each crunchy precious leaf in the palms of grateful hands.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED