A Minnesota Autumn, in verse.
Hear the sorrow of the wind
and the whispers in the trees,
as the southern-flying geese
honk a passage in the night
over harvested brown fields
framing water, town and tree.
Feel the sighing of the wind
on a cold November eve,
under clear-as-crystal sky
with the stars of icy blue
that wink down to say goodnight
through the frosted window pane.
Hear the promise in the wind
when it speaks in elder tongues
to a dance of colored leaves,
leaving branches stark and gray
to stand mute in testament
of the seasons in the wood.
Autumn waves turn bitter cold
chilling froth upon the sand,
bidding loons a last goodbye
as their lonely echoes fade
from the beauty of the land,
on the silence of the wind.
Copyright -2001 Casey Mack
Lovely descriptive poem. Liked 
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