...Or maybe a candle,
We are in a post-Edison-and-Tesla era.
The lights are soft,
My heart is open,
Pen in the hand gliding over paper,
A spiral notebook,
Filling with poetry,
At the cadence of my Muse.
I am thinking of our far-off Paladin,
With a vision of healing,
Heartful of hope,
Future still clothed in fine robes of possibility.
There is something powerful about these hours in the season of Autumn,
Indeed all the year,
Yet now the most.
The cool nights,
Low golden angle of afternoon sun,
Promise of Orion's return to the bejeweled Heavens.
The tinge of color is creeping upon both tree and bush,
Leaves not yet skittering down the streets,
Yet I find that I can't stop from turning them.
By: Daniel A. Stafford