The season turns slowly with never a word
Just rustle of breezes and twitter of bird
And yet in its glory the spirit is stirred
The flutter of feather, the honking of geese
The swaying of maple, the spinning of leaf
The field brushed by whispers of dry amber sheaf
The silence of sun and a soft morning hymn
The slicing of air by a wind driven limb
A cold twirling gust waking notions within
The season spins on ‘round the earth’s steady hub
The whistle of pines and the crackle of shrub
The scuff of an antler with soft honing rub
Sing on, sweet October, sing on, winter bird
Sing anthems of autumn with never a word
And yet with your voices the spirit is stirred
Elizabeth Santos
Sing On, Sweet October
