A Little Spray of Bittersweet

Along with a spray of bittersweet
Came vistas of winding country lane,
Came call of quail, came scent of pine,
And quiet fall of autumn rain.
Came mem'ries of children gath'ring nuts
In the glow of sun on nut-brown eaves
Or lost in curling fingers of fog
That wrapped round fences and tall pine trees.

Came apple orchards -- a paradise
Of jewels, gold and red and green,
Of cornfields towed with thick, dark sheaves
And yellow pumpkins for halloween.
Came shouts of glee on winter nights
When children laughed at popping corn,
And chilling frost on bare, brown feet
Through stubble-field in early  morn.

A saucy chipmunk twirls his tail
And scampers off among the rocks.
A lonely shagbark on a hill
Provides a rendezvous for flocks
Of feathered folk who gather there
En route to greener, sunnier clime.
The first snowballs on naked tree
Surrenders the last leaf on the vine.

And through the amethystine haze
Peer faces that were dear and sweet,
Call voices of the long ago
Through a little spray of bittersweet.

~ Clare Rhine