No sound of birds singing;
They’ve migrated on the sky road
To warmer climes,
Leaving us mortals behind.
The first green olives
Turn dark.
Persimmons ripen
On the bough.
Pomegranate seeds grow so full
They burst the red rinds,
Allowing ants and spiders
To reach the red, tart juice.
The first drops of autumn rain
Splatter my picture windows,
And I’m glad
My Saturday chores are done.
I’ve spent all day trimming trees,
Weeding flowerbeds, sweeping
The crumbly leaves of the neighbor’s tulip trees
That litter my driveway.
Already, another year passes,
And I’ve done nothing noteworthy.
Reading your Autumn Thoughts,
I tell myself, Things haven’t changed much
In 1250 years.
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