We can only desire that the Autumn of our years
be as pleasant as those of our Earth,
where bold colors and scents are bountiful
as they seemed at the time of birth.
Not yet into the Winter of life have we gone,
still holding on to youthful mirth,
our lives and Earth we will hold so dear 
as we seek and find our true worth.

Red and gold of leaves tell of life fulfilled
from whence we strove, long ago, to begin.
Crisp winds blow down upon our fertile souls
fading the blossoms of where we had been.
Come forth, Sweet Autumn, we fear thee not;
we honor your season with no chagrin.
Then, when the Autumn of our years slowly pass us by,
we will be content with approaching Winter’s end.

© Jackie (Micke) Jinks Oct. 2003

(never posted on AD before)