Poetry

I have written about my darling grandmother here before. She who used to tell me stories about flowers and flower fairies, and who used to take me on walks in the country... she can tell which bird is singing by their song, and spends more on bird feed than people feed at her house (this is not a confirmed fact, but I'm pretty sure it's true).

She also writes poetry. Or verse, rather. If you feel inclined to make the distinction.

After reading my 'Second Spring' post, she sent me this verse she wrote back in the Fall of 1961. I think it captures the feeling of Autumn perfectly, and I am so very happy that she sent it to me. I love it. And I'm the girl no one really could ever get to read poetry. (I love you Grammy!)

Summer is stolen!
I hear the cry
Of blue jays screaming against the sky.
"Thief! Thief! Thief! Thief!"
Summer is stolen and each green leaf
Has been slashed with scarlet
And drips with gold.
Summer is stolen!
The tale is told.
 
Summer is stolen,
The birds take flight
To follow the chase in the autumn night.
And now the thief has
What he's after--
Summer's green and summer's laughter.

- Marilyn Fais

Autumn, 1961