Midas

Somewhere in the hills
Old King Midas turns over
About to wake for his Autumn
Walk touching the trees turning
Them gold red orange yellow
As leaves prepare to fall in
To piles of waves waiting
To be shaped by eager
Children raked by old
Men then burned to
Remind noses of
Fall in the air or
So I remember
From autumn
In southern
Illinois in
The 50s
And I
Wonder if
Children still
Place Manilla
Paper over several
Different shaped leaves
To color each a different color
Gold red orange yellow on
The paper the trees and
Briefly the wind and
The ground where
I walk kicking up
Bunches of the
Leaves much
As we enjoy
Leaving a
Mark as
We go
In life
From
Gold red
Orange yellow
To join the brown
Leaves on the ground
All in preparation for our
Winter’s sleep and our
Rebirth each Spring
Tender and green
Destined for the
Midas touch
And glory.

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