WHO COULD NOT
Who could not be poetic on wonderful days like these
In fall, when red maple leaves float on a warm breeze,
Mixed with leaves of bright yellow and vivid gold,
Making a priceless carpet its value cannot be told.
Which heart could not with sheer joy sweetly rejoice,
Who’s lips could not sing praises with melodic voice,
As we gaze in awe at nature’s gifts to mortals given
Giving us maybe a glimpse early into God’s heaven.
How can some just rush by without an upward glance
To see the bright blue sky and then maybe by chance
See the geese fly south on strong whistling wings,
Saying a sad farewell to all these wonderful things.
Who could not be poetic if one were to really try,
Just look at the leaves falling, gaze at the sky,
Feel the warm breeze kiss your upturned face,
Please write something about this beauty and grace.
(Millicent) Ann Margetson November 8, 2002