While October was culminating,
autumn got into the jewelry box
of these thriving bushes, and
silently pocketed the emeralds,
leafing these radiant red rubies,
and, running through the pasture,
scattered diamonds on Silver Creek.
Now this crowned season
in crimsoned autumn air,
with fields gone russet,
dazzles brilliantly. Oh,
that I were queen
of these woodlands.

This poem first appeared in Plains Song Review (Vol. XII 2010).
Used here with permission.