楓葉染紅的大地 浪漫的灑了一片熱情
來遲了 葉兒會掉光
來早了 她還是嫩綠
來的是時候 就能欣賞她的美
年年復年年 卻也年年都不同
心境變了 共賞秋楓的人也不同了
從自然的季節 到生命的季節~就是品嚐季節的詩意
一抹淺笑
因惦記那年那時夾在厚厚書本中寄出的紅楓
他還留著嗎? 現在的他好嗎?
沒有答案 卻留著甜蜜 ~
秋楓 朝霞 雲霧 白雲 陣風 夕陽 都匆匆來去 而留下詩意
隨著自然的節奏 大地奏著美麗的四季樂章
不同的是年份 是心態 是分享時感動的深度與氛圍
盛唐詩人用銳利的眼光 在山林水間來去
為世人留下傳唱詩句三百首
若非美麗的山水 何來吟唱千年的詩詞?
巧遇跨國婚禮 一對高齡佳偶滿臉喜悅的容在美麗的楓紅中
那笑容 媲美秋楓 我聞到幸福 在周圍輕飄~
一眼望去 不知深淺
一派寂寥 水天之間
綠黃相連 協和色調
四季遞換 自然天成
Autumn, Queen of Year
by Winifred Sackville Stoner, Jr.
When the pumpkins are so yellow
And the vines with grapes abound,
When the melons are so mellow
And the nuts fall to the ground;
When persimmons lose their bitters,
And the apples are so red;
When we love to eat corn fritters
Since the roasting ears have fled;
When vacation days are over
And the children go to school,
They no longer play in clover,
But much learn "Arithmos-rule,"
When weird Hallowe'en's most naughty elves
With gnomes and sprites appear,
While fat Thanksgiving fills the shelves -
'Tis AUTUMN, QUEEN OF YEAR.
我有個飛天馬好朋友 在我需要幫忙時義不容詞伸出友誼之手
這情誼 我永遠都記著 愛馬的我 更重視朋友!
刻劃思念的紋路 在我心中呈現火紅的熱情
這不是秋的蕭瑟 而是舞著繽紛的美麗風動跳躍
同一台禮車 曾經載過多少佳偶?
同一個景點 曾經留下多少畫面?
珍惜當下 就能留下永恆甜美
過去的不愉快 就當秋風吹落 滋潤大地成為養份 轉化吧!
藝術是人類的文化薰陶 那美 是讚嘆與打從心底的喜悅
一代一代 親情不斷的綿延著
多年前陪我玩耍的媽媽 如今是我心頭的牽掛
而孩子長大了 卻也永遠都是牽掛
浮萍若夢 人生如戲 
祥和的氣氛 就這麼著~
踩著的 是成長的路程
| To Autumn |
 |
| John Keats (1820) |
|
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
|
| The Autumn |
|
| Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1833) |
|
Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them —
The summer flowers depart —
Sit still — as all transform’d to stone,
Except your musing heart.
How there you sat in summer-time,
May yet be in your mind;
And how you heard the green woods sing
Beneath the freshening wind.
Though the same wind now blows around,
You would its blast recall;
For every breath that stirs the trees,
Doth cause a leaf to fall.
Oh! like that wind, is all the mirth
That flesh and dust impart:
We cannot bear its visitings,
When change is on the heart.
Gay words and jests may make us smile,
When Sorrow is asleep;
But other things must make us smile,
When Sorrow bids us weep!
The dearest hands that clasp our hands, —
Their presence may be o’er;
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may come no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth,
Which once refresh’d our mind,
Shall come — as, on those sighing woods,
The chilling autumn wind.
Hear not the wind — view not the woods;
Look out o’er vale and hill —
In spring, the sky encircled them —
The sky is round them still.
Come autumn’s scathe — come winter’s cold —
Come change — and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
Can ne’er be desolate.
|
| Autumn |
|
| by Mary Hamrick |
|
Autumn is like an old book:
Marred spines turn mean yellow,
staples rust red-orange.
Every stained page is stressed
by a splat of color. Rough-red,
like an old tavern,
we become hungry birds
and prepare for fall.
Shape and shadow are candied citron
as lanterns turn bitter yellow. Autumn
is a red fox, a goblet filled with dark wine,
a hot chilli pepper with smoky eyes.
Pressed leaves take in the colors
of seafood paella and saffron; these leaves
are like death, climaxing with a smile.
Autumn: Her dress is a net of mussels;
dark shelled, it covers up
summer’s weatherbeaten body.
So pull out your boots
and stand on an aged, wood floor
like an evergreen.
|
| Autumn Offering |
|
| by Judith A. Lawrence |
|
I shall be Autumn
this Halloween,
with leaf draped skirt,
and folds of
boysenberry velvet wine
flowing to the ground.
Brown stained face,
eyes rimmed in gold,
nails dripping sunset,
a crown of twigs
to cover my head.
You may gather from me
the spring of my youth,
my summer of maturity,
and hold onto with me,
the solace of these days
of remembering
before the frost.
|
Picture
2010.10.01 Deer Lake
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