I feel it coming on again
In my spirit and my mind
This affliction comes over me
Each year about this time
With warning signs clear as day
Same thing everytime
You’d think an old hand such as I
Would learn to read the sign
But I miss it as I always do
Caught up in day to day
Before I see it, the time’s at hand
And the Warm Girl’s slipped away
But She leaves for me, a gift She does
For a poor boy’s needs are dire
Nothing leaves me more content
Than when Mother lights the fire
She strikes a match and touches tender
Much smoke but still no flame
A little wilted for their cause
The world remains the same
In one starting spark the colors flow
And spread along the ground
They creep in silence as they go
Without a single sound
The Ironweeds and the Asters
Take the striking blow
Honeysuckle and briar bushes
Are the very next to go
I hardly even notice
Busy in life’s quagmire
Somehow I fail to notice
When Mother lights the fire
Looking up the hillside
I see the subtle flame
It can’t be time already
Seems Summer’s hardly came
Pale yellows on the ashes
Timid pinks on sassafras
The dark blood red of sumacs
Orange blazes upon the maples
Burnt yellow of the hickory
Pale reds of dogwoods glow
All of these and many more
When Mother lights the fire
Woods stand in glory
Dressed in best attire
And sing the colors of Autumn
When Mother lights the fire
Copyright © 2007 WML. All Rights Reserved
3 comments:
This is still one of my favorites of all time, I love the way it flows and the message is one of comfort and beauty, especially on this chilly mornings.
Great job!
Ooooh. What a great metaphor, mother lighting the fire. I'd never thought about it that way. That's what I love about poetry--it's like putting on funhouse-mirrored glasses and seeing the world in new ways.
I also see a metaphor between the autumn colors and the warm colors of a fire. There's a quality of song to this poem that could be put to music as well. Thank you for posting this!
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