I want to walk in the woods again
When October comes to the hills,
And bittersweet shines along the lane,
And a woodpecker drums and drills
On a dying tree. And sweet
And plaintive I hear the trills
Of a flock of roving chickadee.
And all alone on the bare blue sky
A hawk is a pasted silhouette.
And a truant serpent, gliding by
Slips o’er the path and through the wet
Dank logs that steam. And the sun
On the earth casts a warm vignette,
Making last night’s frost but a dream.
Here the warmth of summer lingers
On the lonely hills and the stream,
But the touch of icy fingers
Cuts the air, and I seem
To feel them in my heart. As the leaves
Flash and gleam and fall
So must we part.
And the tan of summer lingers
On your lovely face and brow.
But the touch of autumn’s fingers
Has flushed your cheek, and how
I thrill at the blend of seasons
That is in your face, and now
I know this is the end.
But we shall walk in the woods again
When October comes to the hills,
And you’ll pick bittersweet in the lane
And hear the woodpecker at his drills
And I shall see once more the seasons
Blend in your face, and thrill
To have you close to me.
Bill Dowey