Raymond A. Foss Poems

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At the far end of the manicured lawn, the field really,
rolling up toward the horizon line,
up above the fringe by the stonewall
the road I travel on
a ridgeline, a frame to the green, the grass
pines and still-unchanged oaks to be sure;
but pumpkin trees, cranberry trees, canary trees
all radiant in the bright fall light,
shimmering, their moment of glory to reveal
Pause as I pass, linger on the road
take in the wonder of the brilliant color
waiting to be seen

October 18, 2008

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