Karen M. Rice

SEPTEMBER SMOKE

Awarded: October 19, 2007A great red disc hangs hard against the horizon,
Blazing like a setting sun, it is the harvest moon.

The corn is in the cribs, the hay in stacks,
The torch has been set to the stalks.
Over field, down the rills, the September smoke walks.

Autumn leaves in shades of gold and brown have been gathered,
Here and there about the valley they lie in smoldering piles.
Across the land, up to the hills, the September smoke walks.

Smoke hangs loose and walks about the land,
Is it only smoke, or do the spirits of the ancestors walk,
When the September smoke walks from hill to mountain slope?