10.7.12

Golden rays of waning light,

salute the seasons past,

when the earth pushed forth,

her abundant wealth,

and nourished all, whom upon her sat.

An apple ripened on the tree,

from bloom to bud to grown,

a worm whose appetite the apple agreed to meet,

and upon its skin hath grown,

a blemish of beauty.

Oh graceful autumn,

I bow my head to thee,

may I too turn toward the dark and mystery,

shining bright, exuding golden rays,

with grace and dignity,

and love upon my breast,

its vision in my gaze.