Autumn ~ Poem by Richard Hovey

Autumn

There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.

Richard Hovey

Excerpt From
The Optimist’s Good Morning

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