Crow Hill Autumn
Cold Wind.
First snow of winter in October
Silent as crystals.
All that falls from above comes over
The north hill-
Bent and bruised poplars, beeches
The weeds, Queen Anne’s lace.
Apple trees.
Golden delicious sunlight glistens
Off their skins, delicate snow,
And I can only listen to the crisp crunch,
Biting into them the sound of snowfall.
The sunlight lingers on each flake
In a bed of reflection,
Like a winter lake sleeping.
Dormant is a long time
For each cotton stalk.
Songbirds are silent
On these days, reserved,
For a distant look
Into a life
Spilled on the road.
Limbo of InfantsÂ
November is forever falling leaves
As long as I can remember
The scattered piles of the day’s labor
Undone by the icy wind
Whispering words of childhood names:
Rover, Polo, Oxen free.
Of all the seasons I prefer the autumn
Sending her children forth,
Each one a wish,
A lifetime.
These curled corpses of spring
End up on the embers of a distant fire.
~S.D. Hildebrand
Nuclear Polio Vaccination 
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