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The Poetry of Autumn

Emily Bronte wrote a short poem about this time of year.

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;

Lengthen night and shorten day;

Every leaf speaks bliss to me

Fluttering from the autumn tree.

I shall smile when wreaths of snow

Blossom where the rose should grow;

I shall sing when night's decay

Ushers in a drearier day.

Although I admire Emily's optimism, somehow I don't think she could have been a gardener. Gardeners, I think, while welcoming the changing seasons are always looking ahead to next year's roses. That is why, I believe that the author of another poem about autumn sounds as if he may have been a gardener. Politzer wrote:

Whirling leaves, golden and brown

Twisting and turning

Hurrying down

Driving wind, gusty and strong

Whistling and sighing

Rushing along

Scudding clouds, grey leaden sky

Laughing and playing

Galloping by.

Roaming birds, gathered for flight

Chirping and preening

Seeking sun light.

Drooping rose, scattered to earth,

Dying and fading

Waiting new birth.

As we walk around our gardens hoping to find that last rose of summer, we are already dreaming of roses yet to come.

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