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A vague and future heaven
Concerns me not at all --
What I most love and treasure
Are moments in the Fall.

October's gold and azure
Have topaz and sapphire worth,
Better than wings and haloes
Or precious things of earth.

The trees and hills that glow
With seeming inward fire,
Bright curling leaves, chrysanthemums,
Of these I never tire.

I do not need possessions;
Rich things I'll never hold.
But oh, to have forever
October's blue and gold!


Where did you get those gray, gray eyes?
From looking long at November skies.
Your gold-brown hair?  From autumn's leaves.
Your skipping step?  The wild wind weaves
A dance as light and free.

You are November's child, a year end gift --
A burst of sun through gray clouds' rift;
Portent of change, at times so sad and deep
That like the summer's green, you seem to sleep
In long frigidity.


The wind is a phantom child
Swaying the playground swings;
As April, her wanton mother
Displays the gifts she brings --
Of raindrops, sleet and sun.

The buds are an unfulfilled promise
Of the leaves and flowers of May,
The gentle mother of springtime,
Who brings the lengthening day
And the new growth just begun.


What mighty cataclysms formed these peaks!
Though battered by the storms of eons past
And storms to come, yet they will last
Until the breath of God blows them away.

They watch with tolerance man's vain attempts
To desecrate their peaceful, holy place;
Their quiet serves to slow our frantic pace
And helps us find again a means to pray.

May we preserve a depth of reverence
For all the works of God that bless our years;
That we may be at peace as our end nears --
Until the breath of God blows us away.

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