Mirth at sunset,
when herons scream
like children
in the shallows,
and up
on the branches,
aurulent shafts of light
play with the shadows
of auburn leaves —
Come to me and stay
awhile,
for the laughter of October
is upon my face,
a golden glow,
a raging fire that hides
in the Indian summers
of my heart.
by D. G. Vachal. © 2012
*** photography by DigitalArt2@Flickr Commons
You must be logged in to post a comment.