Miss Dickinson’s Autumn

I didn’t know what Emily Dickinson saw when Autumn beckoned  her to write this poem. Maybe it’s the same thing I saw today.



The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry’s cheeck is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I’ll put a trinket on.

Autumn Berries

The Road to Autumn

Scattered Leaves


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