The Poetry of Autumn
Autumn greets us with trimmed days of light, mornings brisk with a subtle, refreshing chill and shimming colors that glow in the afternoon sun. Porches are dressed with pumpkins and woodsmoke drifts through the evening mist. The air sharpens, scented with decaying apples. Hummingbirds race through the fading light of the season to find fuel for the journey home.
There is something magical about the changing of the season---a sense of a fresh start like a whispered promise softening the edges of summer’s heat. The trees shed their green for a blaze of amber, rust and crimson. The light and shadow from a descending sun illuminates the whole world with a painter’s touch. It is a season of transformation, a slow descent into the barren days of winter.
As we mark the start of this season, I wanted to share a few poems on autumn. The first poem, Lonely Leaf, is my own, followed by Autumn’s Touch by Catherine Pulsifer, and It’s September by Edgar Guest. Find more poems at 22 Autumn Poems, Short Poems about Fall
Autumn’s beauty lies not only in its palette but in its poetry: the hush before winter, the richness of decay, the celebration of impermanence. It teaches us to let go gracefully, to find splendor in the fleeting. The poems that follow are born of this season’s spirit—each one a leaf, a breath, a moment caught in the drift. Discover more poems on Autumn at 43 Fall Poems - Seasonal Poems about Autumn. Enjoy!
Lonely Leaf by Marlene Tidwell
Descending through autumn air
You came late and alone,
Sketched with golden flare
Dancing to the season’s song.
Amid woods pale and gray,
You waved and glided softly by
Finding no place to lay your head
Beneath winter’s gathering sky.
Tumbling and swirling slowly down
On russet field your eye was bent.
Whisked up, up and around,
To higher realms you were sent
As though on loftier heights
Your heart had been set.
Gusts whirled you to flight,
Landing, calm solitudes you met.
Finally, your light form laid
Upon the gentle stream.
From there the journey you would take,
My mind could only dream.
Autumn's Touch by Catherine Pulsifer
Autumn's touch, a tapestry unfold,
September's arrival, warmth turns to gold.
Leaves gently dance, in the September breeze,
As nature prepares for a vibrant tease.
October paints with fiery delight,
A palette of red, orange, and yellow so bright.
Falling leaves whisper secrets untold,
A crispness in the air, a story to behold.
But November, ah, my heart's delight,
When autumn reaches its majestic height.
Cozy sweaters, fireside bliss,
November's embrace, I never miss.
It’s September by Edgar A. Guest
It's September, and the orchards are afire with red and gold,
And the nights with dew are heavy, and the morning's sharp with cold;
Now the garden's at its gayest with the salvia blazing red
And the good old-fashioned asters laughing at us from their bed;
Once again in shoes and stockings are the children's little feet,
And the dog now does his snoozing on the bright side of the street.
It's September, and the cornstalks are as high as they will go,
And the red cheeks of the apples everywhere begin to show;
Now the supper's scarcely over ere the darkness settles down
And the moon looms big and yellow at the edges of the town;
Oh, it's good to see the children, when their little prayers are said,
Duck beneath the patchwork covers when they tumble into bed.
It's September, and a calmness and a sweetness seem to fall
Over everything that's living, just as though it hears the call
Of Old Winter, trudging slowly, with his pack of ice and snow,
In the distance over yonder, and it somehow seems as though
Every tiny little blossom wants to look its very best
When the frost shall bite its petals and it droops away to rest.
It's September! It's the fullness and the ripeness of the year;
All the work of earth is finished, or the final tasks are near,
But there is no doleful wailing; every living thing that grows,
For the end that is approaching wears the finest garb it knows.
And I pray that I may proudly hold my head up high and smile
When I come to my September in the golden afterwhile.