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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=392468" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Black Autumn</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Comes the cold, black, wake of autumn, <br>harbouring its' pique on naked limb; <br>damp, feral winds astir <br>to the stalking, hawking, <br>and hideous squawking... <br>of ominous, impetuous birds; <br>large and intrusively pestilent, <br>inexorabally circling, <br>'neath the late day shadows <br>of a cold november sunfall. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the crows of Autumn, wear angry eyes, <br>the kind you felt on the back of your neck <br>when you read Edgar Allan's ''Raven''. <br>Teasing the breeze-spun tumbleweeds, <br>as they roll over cornfields... spewing- <br>threads and shard of stick, and husk, <br>gaunt signs of a harvest dying. <br>Clouds bleed deep sage, and drape <br>over the foreboding presence <br>of these dark-winged beasts in flock, <br>fecklessly searching for any sign <br>that autumn had not yet abandoned them. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dark and black, blackest black, hovering, <br>over the last man standing, <br>in this smoke-dry field, <br>rigidly stationed with stoic poise, <br>donned in spirited, tattered plaid, <br>guardian of the harvest, <br>protector of the field, <br>intrepidly perched over its cornucopia <br>of waning autumntide-offerings. <br>Thus, hanging upon six feet of wood <br>stands the Scarecrow, <br>weathered, yet sturdy, <br>in a pose of crucifixion. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, the taunting begins, <br>with a strident kick of breeze, <br>as the crows fly low, in arrowed flank, <br>with bitter, and arrogance- <br>their Autumn slipping away. <br>Swooping to the gust of a winter prelude, <br>obsessively circling, their black eyes gleaming, <br>the strawman succumbs <br>to a wind-flounced dance, <br>and to the evil delight of its menacing prey, <br>while Wind choirs strond...in loud soprano <br>like high-pitched fifes on air. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Autumn dies colourless; <br>bare, brittle in burial. <br>No Death Hymn be sung<br>as winter seals its casket.<br>And the crows, cold and jaded, <br>fly away as they came, <br>wreak havoc south of cotton<br>untill the April month -<br>when melting ice unveils <br>fresh buds on lonesome branches <br>of a Spring awaiting breath, <br>and hence, they come again<br>once again...and stay they will<br>'til the next black Autumn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Frank+James+Ryan+Jr.">Frank James Ryan Jr.</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=392468" data-title="The Black Autumn de Frank James Ryan Jr." data-description="Comes the cold, black, wake of autumn, 
harbouring its' pique on naked limb; 
damp, feral winds astir 
to the stalking, hawking, 
and hideous squawking... 
of ominous, impetuous birds; 
large and intrusively pestilent, 
inexorabally circling, 
'ne..."></div>
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