Carpets of Gold

Ages old, these carpets of gold.
Cover the valley floor.

Soften the scene,
The stream’s careen,
Gently, as before.

A trillion times over,
The trees did inflame,
Released their load,
Like gentle rain.

To a restless bed,
A fountain head, under the trees,
Blown about by fickle breeze.

We lie as before on this soft, warm cushion.
Making love to the water’s percussion.

As the warm sun brings a sweat of skin,
And we lie languid amid the din.

Of bees buzzing in the late afternoon.
Hurry, …Winter will come soon.

Copyright 2002 © Ronald W. Hull


 Carpet of Gold


Warm Autumn Sun


Autumn Stream Careening

Credit:  Heather's Gallery


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