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1448

How soft a Caterpillar steps—
I fond one on my Hand
From such a velvet world it comes
Such plushes at command
Its soundless travels just arrest
My slow—terrestrial eye
Intent upon its own career
What use has it for me—
Don Bouchard Sep 2013
The Autumn missal has arrived,
A fall reminder of the coming cold,
Strange slanting light to shift the maple
Greens to furious red and gold.

High above the myriad travelers chant adieu,
As on their sky-road paths they sing,
A chorus glorious to southern waters blue
Where winter marshes serve a warm retreat.

A liturgy of highest order drives the world
Beyond the ken of time-old cycles round;
Hibernal instinct now in feral life unfurls:
Flogs squirrels outward on their oak-corn bounds,
Plushes wealth of wolves' warm winter fur,
Hardens bone and antler, deepens feathered down,
Adds harvest fat to beast and fish and fowl,
Drives sap below old Frost's attempt to burrow down.

_____
Unspoken paen unheard by almost all,
A careless shivering passerby may dread
This ritual changing of the Fall,
But never mind, the liturgy is read,
And Nature safely tucks herself into her wintery bed.
3rd revision
catherine Jun 2017
My melancholy muse
break away from your
renegade romance,
sweep off the residue
of a fettered love affair.
Come rest in my abode -
i’ll sprinkle you with
moonlight dust,
adorn with flecks
of emerald plushes
and make you my birdsong
where your every blink
shall spawn idyllic themes,
your laugh
strum lyrics of exuberance,
and your touch -
an oasis in stratums
of drought.

— The End —