Oct 5, 2025
Autumn Girl
Her freckled grin flashes as she shucks Indian corn— the cobs fall into metal pots.
Distance draws her in morning's cornfields— calm she is, like an auburn river.
Her anticipation is evening dancing, blue-blushing in sprinkled lights— her shadow moving on silo walls.
Where is she if not caught here in rough roadside taverns— where if not singing laments of love?
In myriad hay mows she hides, and she gleans her well-worn repetition— in anger's slow, dry harvest. by Gary Busha
