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Ron Stewart


It’s autumn and the trees,
bereft of summer’s verdant leaves,
that tumbled down and down and down,
green, red, yellow, orange, and brown,
a magical carpet on the ground.

Beneath the trees tall plants still rise,
pay homage to late summer's skies;
feel the wrath of frosty breath,
and weave their gentle dance of death.

© by Ron Stewart.
Used with the author’s permission.


Ron Stewart is a retired airline pilot; he spent 12 years in the RCAF, 5 years as an aircraft accident investigator, and 28 years with Jazz Aviation. Ron lives in Kilworth, a small village just outside London, Ontario, with his wife of 50+ years, his dog Calliope, and cat Penelope. He started writing poetry a few years before retirement and is the author of two self-published poetry books: That Good Old Poetry Book and A Boy Growing up in London.



Post New Comment:
Nice. Thank you.
Posted 10/27/2020 10:56 AM
"Frosty breath" . . . "dance of death"--vivid descriptions.
Posted 10/24/2020 10:24 AM
Lori Levy:
Like the image of the plants still growing beneath the trees.
Posted 10/23/2020 06:19 PM
Like this!!!
Posted 10/23/2020 10:35 AM
Love the childlike innocence of the first verse and the rhyme, but then paused to read several times the last two lines...haunting.
Posted 10/23/2020 10:22 AM
Nice rhyme work.
Posted 10/23/2020 08:58 AM

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