3 result(s) for Stark Beauty Of Late Fall Poems.
These poems are completely original - not copied from anywhere. Feel free to use them however you want.
First Snow, Bowed Stalks
The meadow's gold has gone to gray,
and dried stalks stand in quiet rows,
until the first snow, soft and slow,
bends every stem where the wind goes.
No bloom remains to catch the light,
just bare stems bowing, pale and bright,
as flakes descend with careful grace
to rest on each unbending place.
The field is hushed, the sky is wide,
and winter walks in, calm and clear,
the stalks give way with a whispered sigh,
then keep their shape beneath the frost's reply.
Etchings of November
Bare branches etch the pale sky,
thin ink on a fading page,
where crows lift from the frozen field
and scatter like torn sheets of age.
The last leaves rest in rust and bronze,
laid down beneath the frost-stiff grass,
and every breath hangs white and still
as the hours slow and the daylight pass.
No song remains to soften cold;
the world is spare, and bare, and plain,
yet in its severe and open lines
I find a beauty clean as rain.
Dusk on the Hushed Fields
Gray dusk settles over quiet fields,
where stubble bends in frost-bit rows.
The last of gold has bled from the hills,
and bare oaks hold their breath, unsure.
No birdsong stitches the cooling air;
only the wind, thin as a blade,
slips through the hedges, stripped and still,
and writes its name in the rustling leaves.
Beauty here is spare and severe,
a sketch in ash on a pale sky,
where every line is honest and bare,
and nothing hides from the coming dark.
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