Call of Autumn
Margaret V.Doran
We rise at night, noticing the cold,
when we hear the first call of autumn.
We wrap our robes tightly against the cold
and push our toes snugly into our slippers.
Knowing we will find moonlight,
we look for the swan Vs
stretched long now across our sky.
Like miniatures high above us,
their haunting calls echo back; float on the air
find us listening; are answered.
When all the Vs of the night have passed,
we throw another log on the fire,
stir marshmallows into our cocoa,
climb warmed and cozy back into our beds.
Though we can't hear them, we know
the swans are still calling.
Copyright © 2002 Margaret V. Doran.
All rights reserved.
If you enjoyed this poem, please send her an e-mail here.
Updated July 20, 2002
Return to Title Page