A few stands of color held on until the end.
Someone had to hold the gold in salute to her.
Fallen leaves tumbled across the leveled fields.
Someone had to dance in her honor.
Vast clouds sailed on a brisk, cold wind.
Someone had to wrap her in ermine.
She, who brought the harvest to fruition.
She, who woke us from our summer dreams
with the glory of her song. Someone
got to stand here in this field, breathing
the fragrance of her, watching as she spent
her last hours singing a final amen
as the winds and the hours swept her away.