"It was one of those days you sometimes get latish in the autumn
when the sun beams, the birds toot and there is a bracing tang in the air
that sends the blood beetling briskly through the veins."
P.G. Wodehouse
There are about a jillion autumn poems, and most of them are too goopy for me. "Margaret are you grieving/ Over Goldengrove unleaving?" "October gave a party;/ The leaves by hundreds came -- " and on and on and on.
Most of these seasonal poems invite us to compare the autumn of the year with the autumn of our lives. For a more muscular meditation, let us consider this:
"God hath made no decree to distinguish the seasons of his mercies,
and in Heaven it is always autumn,
His mercies are ever in their maturity."
John Donne
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