GOLDEN AUTUMN

Marchland branches bending earthward

Autumn leaves in every hue

Cover o'er the sleeping mallards

Hidden from the hunter's view.

Muskrats swim in murky water,

Carry food into the den.

Instinct warns of coming winter

When water dwellers must stay in.

On the bank a wary white tail

Watches as he drinks his fill

Every muscle strained and ready

To spring back to wooded hill.

Overhead Canadian honkers

Stay aloft in graceful flight

Move ahead of coming winter

Beat the flyways day and night.

Fox squirrels quarrel in constant chatter

Keeping time with throbbing tail

Carry nuts into their burrows

Safe from coming wintry gale.

High above a fierce marsh hawk

Perched atop a gnarled tree,

Beady eyes trained ever downward

Hoping for a feast to see.

Far afield the cheery whistle

Of the small white-throated quail

Watching o'er his feeding covey

From a fence post or a rail.

Soon the autumn sun will vanish

Bringing dark snow laden skies

Soon will be a place of silence

Broken by the marsh hawks cries.

John L. Gwaltney

THE DOLLY

I found a little dolly

While working with my plow.

The hands and little fingers

Had stayed intact somehow.

Some broken glass and china,

A caved-in family well

Soon told me I was plowing

Where a family used to dwell.

A grove of trees and briars

That once had been a yard

Were warding off my plowshares

Like a silent ancient guard.

Somewhere beneath that bramble,

Under vine, or bush, or tree,

They guarded well the secret

Where a playhouse used to be.

I longed to know the family

I pictured in my mind;

I longed to hold the little miss

Who'd left her doll behind.

I know I could have loved her

Had she been dark and shy,

Or had she been a little blond

With eyes like Autumn sky.

I vowed then I'd protect them,

Each vine and bush and tree,

And maybe she'd return someday

Her childhood home to see.

I'd put the dolly safe away,

Protect with loving care,

And should she ever pass my way,

I'd give it back to her.

John L. Gwaltney