October in Canada

Afternoon of autumn lies a tween me and the hill
Rising like a giant amethyst a mile away,
Dimmed by opal-tinted airs that intervene until
All looks like a cobweb mist of purple and of grey.

Lying where the pebbles sprinkle all the river sands,
I can dip my fingers in the water warm and clear,
Watch the sunlight shimmer in the waves above my hands,
Watch a snowy little sail that lazily floats near.

Far beyond the flats where some are husking Indian corn,
I can see the oval, yellow stacks of straw uplift,
Hear the hum of threshing; for since early hours of morn,
'Round the barns a cloud of amber chaff has been adrift.

Flocks of crows at random fly within the upward air,
Ebon tufts that dot the clouds athwart a pinkish sky;
Far away the stubble fields are stretching dun and bare,
Edged with goldenrod and flecked with leaves a-blowing by.

Night comes stealthily and thieves the colours from the hill,
Nought she leaves upon its brow of amethyst or blue;
Day will soon be over, and the twilight grey and still,
Whispers very gently that my dreamland darkens too.
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