GOLDEN DAYS

My eyes are drawn to distant hill
it seems they’ll never get their fill,
Autumn colours all ablaze
peeking out from morning haze.

The trees put on their final show
adorned in splendor e’er they go,
to sleep, as winter winds do sweep
their fallen beauty into heaps.

Little creatures all a-scurry
gather winter stores before the flurry,
the tiny pools of dew their drinks
soon to freeze to mini rinks.

The crows announce with plaintive call
the golden glory of the fall,
ducks and geese as they wing south
bring oohs and aahs from out my mouth.

The many sights and sounds and smells
bring joy within my heart to dwell,
my lips give voice to thanks and praise
to God the Creator, of Golden Days.

Margaret Rose Larrivee
Sept. 22, 1994