Forever Autumn – a poem.

Recently some friends invited us to a “forever autumn” themed evening. I contributed this light hearted poem.

I, autumn, distain my sisters, three
Not one of you as good as me!
I point at my bountiful harvest fare
Look what I produce to share
Fields waving with golden grain,
Riches are my echoed refrain
Orchards full of fruited trees,
Honeycombs gifted by the bees.
Don’t even consider the rest
Forever autumn, I’m the best.

Now winter you banish green,
Perhaps as pretty as a dream
You substitute snow and ice,
But how can they call you nice?
Nothing to eat, ground as stone,
Fast becoming skin and bone
Without my bounty all would cry.
Foodless, nothing to do, but die.
Don’t even consider the rest
Forever autumn, I’m the best.

Spring you come far too late
Life awakes to procreate
Promises to challenge my stored fare,
Blossoms and green shoots everywhere.
Your promise nascent new life
Foodless this only means strife
Your bounty a future lure
The living need so much more.
Don’t even consider the rest
Forever autumn, I’m the best.

Summer with your heat and sun
You smother with frolicking fun
Throughout each dreamy day
Wash away cares you say,
Field and groves growing well
These are lies that you tell
It’s my harvest; that you know
When all you do is help it grow.
Don’t even consider the rest
Forever autumn, I’m the best.

© Copyright, October 2013, Jane Stansfeld

13 thoughts on “Forever Autumn – a poem.

    • Hi Ian, I wrote you a response but it seems to have floated into nothingness. In my response I commented on the fact that the Texas winters are also very mild and that our autumn is like a spring because everything bursts back into growth after the long hot summer. Cheerio, Jane

  1. Thank you Cynthia,
    Yes, I agree occasional poems are fun and I’m glad that you saw this one in the spirit fun that it was written. Actually spring is my favorite season although my sister asserts that autumn in Texas is like spring as everything comes alive again after the long dry hot summer. I think that all my favorite classic poems about seasons are those about autumn.
    Cheerio,
    Jane

  2. Dear Autumn,

    If this is meant to be a tease, a part of some parlour game with your sisters three, I smile in mild indulgence. However, if it’s what you hold in your heart, I’ve failed I see.

    Know you not, my dear, that you’re beautiful in your own right. To soar high, why use your sisters as steps?

    Could you have produced all that abundance, without the first shoots of spring or the golden sun of summer? And winter, a time for respite for Man and land – a time to gather around the hearth and give thanks.

    In my eyes, you’re lovely and you rightly know this. However, know also the worth of your sisters three. Peace.

    Father Seasons

    • Daddy dear,
      I fear your anger at my jesting rhyme,
      You are father of all, my father time.
      Yet know I love my sisters three,
      I know what they do for me.
      Next time I’ll give them equal dues,
      But to say they are better, I refuse.
      Love Autumn.

      • LOL – good come back 🙂

        No anger I hold, for how can I, against my own. Your sisters no better, true. You know how I feel about all of you. Pluck I one eye to favour the other? Love you dearly, equally all.

        Father Seasons

  3. What a totally delightful piece, Jane! Autumn happens to be my favorite season, here in New England, so your poem contributes much fuel to that fire….it does seem to have a spirit of ambition and achievement, as you have nicely implied. What I mentioned in my reply to Eric last week about occasional poems still stands: I love’em. Congrats on this one; I hope the assembled company enjoyed it!

    • Thank you Cynthia,
      Yes, I agree occasional poems are fun and I’m glad that you saw this one in the spirit fun that it was written. Actually spring is my favorite season although my sister asserts that autumn in Texas is like spring as everything comes alive again after the long dry hot summer. I think that all my favorite classic poems about seasons are those about autumn.
      Cheerio,
      Jane

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