Here then, now, still I see the reds,
russets and golds that once piqued Keats
to pen a tribute, from this bed
the colors flame up and repeat
the annual autumn's protest
towards summer's unfailing retreat.
I see the rising and falling
much like those in the Lake District,
And imagine Keats once walking
there and my own regal prospect
here and think us timeless beings
with our visions now intersect'd.
Beauty swells and undulates so-
a mottled colored weaving of
local vegetation that grows
and covers the mountain as though
expression of a blushing love-
All the landscape is overflowed
with Autumn's singular trove.
Asheville, NC
October 2010
