Right proudly she walks in her bounty
Sown the lengths the length of the dim forest trails,
To the music of gipsy hand playing
A march on the silver-stringed gales.
Her gown is be-ribboned and ruffled ,
And dainty dyed by the frost;
While the sun-gods have woven the veiling
That upon her bright tresses is tossed.
Her bridal-bouquet is blue gentain,
With tassels if thistle-down floss;
And her sandals that tread, O, so softly,
Are fashioned of lichens and moss.
Each year she goes forth to the altar
At the sound pf a cleat ringing call,
And places her hand in her lover’s –
September, the bride of Fall!
~ Elodia Pray Wright,
Another lovely vintage poem, from my one of my vintage magazine’s ~ The Home Arts Magazine, September 1934