William22's Fotothing

A VAGABOND SONG by Bliss Carmen

There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood -
Touch of manner, hint of mind;
And my heart is like a rime,
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;
We must rise and follow her,
When from every hill of flame
She calls and calls each vagabond by name.

Every fall I recall this poem I memorized when I was a child in school many, many years ago.