Remembering sweet lovers in autumn.
It's always autumn when I think of you often,
hunched over in the tan sweater I knitted
with leather patches on the elbows,
reaching almost to your knees.
I never could follow a pattern well.
You would fling out the blanket for our feast,
your knees crunching leaves as you knelt majestically
and patted it into place before anchoring it with a pumpkin
or two and a plate for the cheeses and bread.
You always set a fine looking table.
After all was placed in proper order, you opened the wine.
We touched our glasses and thanked God for another year.
We sat looking at goldenrod sway as gentle winds puffed.
Fields were gold and green as far as we could see.
Your father's beautiful land was always like heaven.
I think of you often when the sun shines, when the rains pour,
when the storms howl and when it blows feathery snow.
I think of you when I'm in a crowd, when I'm lonely.
When I'm misunderstood, I crave to hear your voice.
But always, I think of you in autumn.
*Published in WDC Anthology, 2012, Editor's Pick