POETRY: Autumn's Gold

Autumn's Gold
By Hubert Herrmann

Oh yes, I've had my hopes for gold,
Like any man whose life's been sold
To doctors, bankers, Master's, Sears,
Whose April tax is in arrears.

Who later on with hand-cupped ear,
In fear says, "Eh, what's that I hear?"
"I said," shouts out the office hack,
"Your Old Age Pension's been cut back."

And sure, I've had my fantasies
Of thumbnail wins on lotteries,
And bought Ed's magazines to win
On sweepstakes tickets I'd send in.

I've rolled three sevens in a row;
The next throw snake eyes took my dough.
I've bet the favorite to place;
The long shot's rump was in its face.

But with all that I have to say,
I never was so in the sway
Of bandit's arm and dealer's choice
That gold but had a passing voice.

It wasn't that my wants were few.
But way down deep, inside, I knew
There was, somewhere, a gold so pure
It brings about confusion's cure.

I found it one vacation day
As I unwound the long highway
Far from the city's murk and mire
In autumn's land of yellow fire.

Luck led me to a treasure trove
Within an ancient aspen grove.
Amidst this amphitheater,
I felt a long lost yearning stir.

Gold leaf-shaped coins were everywhere,
Thrown on the ground, flung in the air,
Then scattered on the molten stream
Beyond my wildest treasure dream.

Slant shafts of gold sprang from the ground;
They glowed and hovered all around
Like Jedi swords prepared to route
The shadow thieves that lurked about.

The coin-hung ceiling's tracery
Threw flecks of gold all over me.
My heart sang out a joyful note
Instead of pounding in my throat.

I stayed until the landslide night
Had buried every coin from sight
And to this day I've never sold
My treasured share of autumn's gold.