By Marie Daerr
Now autumn rules the land. The year
Moves to its close in majesty
Of dahlia petals red as wine
And crowns of gold upon a tree.
Now day ends sooner, and the dusk
Carries a leaf-fire’s stirring scent,
While night skies offer to the eye
A star-bedazzled firmament.
Lord, in these autumn days I too
Would bring an end to certain things—
The habit that would make me slave,
The petty discontent that clings,
The jealousies that only harm,
The selfish impulse that brings pain,
The groundless fears that serve no end,
The worries that are all in vain.
So let this be for me a time
When I cast off the old for new,
Forsaking what is false and poor
For all that’s noble, fine, and true.