Sometime after the autumnal tide
when the trees are fully clad,
I thought your golden head
was fair,

How fair the riches
of red, yellow, gold
how painted and mixed hew

when I walked her mane
her scarlet mane
racing the river’s bends.

How musty, strong
our infancy,
strong and stately

a thousand morns
a thousand trees
admire

since we were born.

21 Sept 08