Still time for a couple more poems of autumn, celebrating the season, in one mood or another. This little poem by Carl Sandburg is spare but very evocative. Enjoy!
by Carl Sandburg
I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman,
the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The northwest wind comes, and the yellow is torn full of holes,
new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind,
and the old things go,
not one lasts.