Every year, the feelings haunt me
My heart pleasures to recall;
My first memory is vivid
Of the Smokies in the Fall.
“Winter’s comin’,” Daddy told me
While I marveled at the sight;
To this day, I’ve not seen colors
That were ever quite as bright.
Wispy clouds went snaking upwards
From the mountaintops in view;
I rubbed my eyes against the brightness
Of each brilliant Autumn hue.
Daddy swung his axe with vigor
As the leaves blew in the wind,
And I wished a day so lovely
Would not ever have to end.
Autumn now brings back the memory
Of that Fall in my childhood
When I ran through Autumn splendor
To the sound of chopping wood.
copyright © 1999 by moleta ruth mccarter. all rights reserved.
