Born into the color of chrysanthemums –
umber and amber,
purple and gold and bronze,
may you have color in life.
Born into the leaf-falling
and the life-clarifying time,
of the scarlet-chasing of maples,
and the dark true silhouettes
of oak and elm,
bare as bones,
may you always be able to shed the
scattered things,
and find roots deep,
to outline in the glow of sunset
the naked beauty of your soul.
Born into the abundance of pumpkin
and Indian corn, of squash,
and apples, red as joy,
born into a ripeness,
when the earth is warmer
than the wind, born into
the grey and weathered ingathering
of working fields and barns,
and the shabby rich fruition
of roadside farmstands,
may you have harvest, and touch
the bounty you have planted.
Born into the season of all souls,
ghosts and saints, season
of bonfires to hallow the hunting dark
and lanterns to shine
the wandering spirits in,
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