At the Farm in the Fall

A long straight rolling road

Brown between autumn fields

Late at night on the high plain

Comes a brilliant shooting star

Arcing through the twinkling black

Burning fiercely fast and bright

High across the inky starry night

Through thin and unsustaining air

Flaming hot and dying in a wink

Briefly seen alone that night

And now

Gone.

We reconvene at the car,

Loaded with our pumpkins.

We return to young lives,

Still burning bright.

December 2011

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About Jay C Ritterson
If I say nothing, it might be that I have nothing to say.

2 Responses to At the Farm in the Fall

  1. Ann says:

    I like this poem, but found the word “plane” used here a bit confusing.
    Did you mean plane? or perhaps, plain?

    Like

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