Thomas Deininger

A Walk in Autumn Woods

King Midas passed this way

striding down the mountain,

his robes inflaming grasses,

his hands mesmerizing trees.

In tourmaline, amber, and garnet

the land has burst afire

bronzing grasses, gilding leaves,

gold gleaming wherever he gazed.

He walked this place dreaming

of beauty, as the departing sun

swiftly, too swiftly stripped

the aspens of their gold.

Bereft, they lean bone-white

into a blue and cooling sky

while the faint fluting of Pan

sounds in the wind like grief.

~~ Pat Maslowski