October Ashes
By
John I. Blair
Near Halloween here
The ash leaves fall
In golden drifts
On still-green grass.
Although the days
Are not quite crisp
Now I recall
Cold winter blasts.
Propriety says
To rake these leaves
In orderly piles,
To bag and haul.
But all I wish
Is just to keep
My heap of gold
Upon display
Until it rusts away.
©2002 John I. Blair
| 
