~ A u t u m n ~
Birds fly to exile, yet they go singing
And salmon leap into a dance with death.
The faithful Earth is fruitful in her failing
And apples flame to life at winter's breath.
The meadows smell of baking and of wine.
The ancient year makes brave in red and gold.
Wild storms sing war-songs to the pines
And the heart's own blood is quickened at the cold.
The land is a bonfire of gladness
Though wolves of winter are at the door
And God goes winnowing the fields and fastness -
Yet kiss His hand and all adore.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
... And only I - so fraily human
With all my burden of little woes
Fear that Flame of God within me -
Flinch from blessings, as from blows.