Falter/Brown County, Indiana
I love the falter, it’s my favorite time of year.
The time when Mother Nature comes, in full regalia,
Bringing massive reams of color, you can see both far and near.
And, if you can not see it — you can hear it in the leaves,
On the footpaths when they’re dry enough, and you no longer have to sneeze.
Proper yards have all been raked, the apples gathered in,
Now we may sit by the fireplace drinking cider, with sticks of cinnamon.
When the last leaf has fallen softly to the ground,
You awake next morning, cannot hear a sound,
You rise to find the reason, and all the world round,
Is dressed in white, with furried creature footprints,
Made at the last of night.
The world is pure again, not a smudge is seen.
Mother Nature’s come again, to wipe her palette clean.
The world is resting, sleeping, peaceful now …
Till Mother Nature comes again, to make it bright, with spring.
— C.L. Emmitt, Muncie, in loving memory of Fred Lorenz
Young Soldiers
So often our little boys
Who aren’t supposed to cry
Give up their future dreams and toys,
Go off to battle, sometimes to die
For our country they must give their precious lives
So we may live,
Giving up their family and friends
Leaving purple hearts for their wives
These little boys who aren’t supposed to cry
Cannot cry ‘cause little boys don’t cry
Who to save our lives must die
And yet remember, little boys
Who grow to be big boys
Don’t cry!
— C.L. Emmitt, Muncie
Moonlight
I walked with my little boy
Holding hands
Down the backcountry road
At summer fullmoon rise.
The moon was just over
The ragged eastern hills.
“Pretty moon,” my son said gravely.
We walked down a hill
And the moon disappeared.
“Moon gone Daddy,”
He said anxiously.
“That’s ok,” I said
“It will come back soon.”
And as the road climbed
A little hill, it did,
Nestled in dark tree limbs.
“Moon back,” said my boy,
“It’s a miracle.”
“Yes,” I said firmly,
“Yes, it is.”
— Andrew Hubbard, Nashville
