Our old friend Rolland Smith spent a lifetime career writing stories and reporting and anchoring television news in New York and is recipient of eleven Emmy Awards. He is a master storyteller who has turned to the deftness and craft of poetry. In retirement, his world is smaller, yet his perspective is fresh, as ever.
©2019 Rolland G. Smith
The summer zephyrs have changed to cool breezes.
Natures green is withering into browns, golds, oranges, and crimsons.
And me, I turn to poetry.
O fleeting, splendid bright, October’s dazzling light
Long hidden in the buds of birth below the green.
An ecstasy of eye’s ability to see
What nevermore and ever will again be seen.
Tiara wreaths of crimson reds and sienna.
Robes of rusted browns; ensigns tanned in saffron hue,
Natures standards of the oak, the birch, and maple,
The ash and aspen, just before their leaf’s adieu.
Blowing in a pruning breeze, colors drop away,
To flutter by and decorate the frosted fall
And celebrate the shedding cloak of summer’s sheen
Before the dancing flakes of snow will white enthrall.
Colors are the chorus, the season’s change in sound.
Scarlet, a crispy snap, Jasmine’s much more frail;
Maroons rustle in the breath of a bouncing wind
And lingering greens help the harmonies prevail.
The leaves of fall, the garland crowns of wooded land
Attune to the life of man by the breaths we share.
The exhale of one; the inhale of the other,
A symbiotic natural grace within the air.
Keep thy palette bright, October, drop no more leaves
Least not until appreciation passes by
And then, the comfort of your colored quilt will warm
A winter day with thanks the way you beautify.