Gold and orange blazes across evergreen slopes,
Waving brown grasses whispering hopes.
Jagged white mountains, rolling plains,
Musty fall leaves wet with rain.
Snow in September,
Foggy days to remember.
Brilliant blue skies,
My heart fairly flies.
Crystal clear gurgling streams,
Calm deep pools, scales that gleam.
I carefully cast into the pool,
Awaiting the bite that will come from the jewel,
The line my hand seeks as,
Out of the water a silver arc streaks.
Copyright 2011 Abigail Chapman
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