I waited until autumn
to see the trees turn,
waited for cold nights,
for frost in the burm
when green oaks turn gold,
then bronze, then to brown,
red grows the sumac,
bright as a crown
on the floor of the forest, on
the brow of a hill, drawing
eyes to her wisp of fire
burning bright as desire
first published in The Oak
also published in LONE STARS
also published in Illinois State Poetry Society
©2013 Bonnie Manion