Before Autumn

Summer's last moon has waned--
Waned
As amber fires
Of an Aztec shrine.
The invisible breath of coming death has stained
The withering leaves with its nepenthean wine--
Autumn's near.

Winds in the woodland moan--
Moan
As memories
Of a chilling yore.
Magnolia seeds like Indian beads are strewn
From crimson pods along the earth's sere floor--
Autumn's near.

Solitude slowly steals,
Steals
Her silent way
By the songless brook.
At the gnarly yoke of a solemn oak she kneels,
The musing joy of sadness in her look--
Autumn's near.

Yes, with her golden days--
Days
When hope and toil
Are at peace and rest--
Autumn is near, and the tired year 'mid praise
Lies down with leaf and blossom on her breast--
Autumn's near.