A brilliant flash of red over gold –
That’s all it was before the days grew cold.
The harvesting had yet to start,
When farmers would resume their part
In the tragi-comedy of fall.
The blazing bird was settling in,
Our neighbour and the kith and kin
Of all the other beasts who’d brave
The coming season. Sheepishly, I crave
His presence most of all.
Soon, as the dusk around us creeps,
And the fogs of fall within our bones do seep,
The bird is lost from view. Yet still we’re left
With an image – and an indrawn breath –
And that scarlet over gold we will recall.