The Girl of Autumn

As dusk clutches the sun with
hands of scarlet,
a girl picks a burden off the trees.
 
Eyes of Ireland,
her hair, gold at the end of the rainbow,
she reaches toward the autumn awakened-apples
that come from the first buds of May.
 
Tugging, she falls backward into the
scorched dirt and speechless leaves,
struck by an avalanche of apples,
with a lonesome basket
face down in the breathless oaks and maples.
 
She grabs the basket, dusted with
a crisp fall breeze
and skips toward the soothing
smoke from the chimney.