Poem: “Autumn At The Orchard” by Edgar A. Guest

A Heap o’ Livin’

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American Literature – American Poetry – Edgar A. Guest – Poems by Edgar A. Guest – A Heap o’ Livin’
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Autumn At The Orchard

The sumac’s flaming scarlet on the edges o’ the
     lake,
  An’ the pear trees are invitin’ everyone t’ come
     an’ shake.
  Now the gorgeous tints of autumn are appearin’
     everywhere
  Till it seems that you can almost see the Master
     Painter there.
  There’s a solemn sort o’ stillness that’s pervadin’
     every thing,
  Save the farewell songs to summer that the
     feathered tenors sing,
  An’ you quite forget the city where disgruntled
     folks are kickin’
  Off yonder with the Pelletiers, when spies are
     ripe for pickin’.

  The Holsteins are a-posin’ in a clearin’ near a
     wood,
  Very dignified an’ stately, just as though they
     understood
  That they’re lending to life’s pictures just the
     touch the Master needs,
  An’ they’re preachin’ more refinement than a lot
     o’ printed creeds.
  The orchard’s fairly groanin’ with the gifts o’
     God to man,
  Just as though they meant to shame us who
     have doubted once His plan.
  Oh, there’s somethin’ most inspirin’ to a soul in
     need o’ prickin’
  Off yonder with the Pelletiers when spies are
     ripe fer pickin’.

  The frisky little Shetlands now are growin’
     shaggy coats
  An’ acquirin’ silken mufflers of their own to
     guard their throats;
  An’ a Russian wolf-hound puppy left its mother
     yesterday,
  An’ a tinge o’ sorrow touched us as we saw it
     go away.
  For the sight was full o’ meanin’, an’ we knew,
     when it had gone,
  ‘Twas a symbol of the partin’s that the years are
     bringin’ on.
  Oh, a feller must be better—to his faith he can’t
     help stickin’
  Off yonder with the Pelletiers when spies are ripe
     fer pickin’.

  The year is almost over, now at dusk the valleys
     glow
  With the misty mantle chillin’, that is hangin’
     very low.
  An’ each mornin’ sees the maples just a little
     redder turned
  Than they were the night we left ’em, an’ the
     elms are browner burned.
  An’ a feller can’t help feelin’, an’ I don’t care
     who it is,
  That the mind that works such wonders has a
     greater power than his.
  Oh, I know that I’ll remember till life’s last few
     sparks are flickin’
  The lessons out at Pelletiers when spies were ripe
     for pickin’.

< < < A Bear Story
When Pa Comes Home > > >

American Literature – American Poetry – Edgar A. Guest – Poems by Edgar A. Guest – A Heap o’ Livin’

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