Autumn is the true season
Autumn is the time eternal
O through the doors come banners brightly woven
Bronze and gold and scarlet like heart’s blood,
Hung upon these gates to shroud the dying sun.
The horns of the hunter
Catch the moon and draw her down.
Night is truth-
These are the secrets she whispered
Under cold stars and night-scented air.
Softly, one leaf drifts upon a lake of glass.
There is a stag in the wood,
Melding shadows into oak.
Nine ebon hounds with moons for eyes pursue him.
Where he has fallen all the leaves and fruits
Are washed with red.
A seed is hidden in the earth.
The inward-watching wood is lulled to dream.
And dreaming, wild spirits walk the world.
Their fingers brush the bough, the lake, the shining bone,
And all are touched with frost.
These are the keys to the twilight kingdom.
O through the doors out into wild lands,
For secret, hidden things.
This is a poem I wrote many years ago, so now I’ve brought it out into the light once more.
And, of course: This work is copyright of the author, and may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the author’s written permission.