Autumn Song The smell of cider in the crisp air, The songs of geese heading south, My desire to go with them, The gift of picking up and leaving; Instincts leading the way. But to follow them would mean No more smells of apples or Sounds of dried leaves Crunching under foot; The gift of the colors… My eyes would miss Gold, red yellow, orange and brown, The crisp, tart taste of an apple Straight from the tree would no longer Tempt my tongue. After hiking through wooded land I sit on a stump, left from a fallen tree Too old to no longer stand. Looking around, knowing this is Right where I belong. * * * (This poem soon to appear in the author's forthcoming poetry collection) Camellia Stadts is an artistic spirit who loves expressing herself via diverse creative mediums from writing and poetry, to painting, knitting, crocheting, an...
Women's Spiritual Poetry