Autumn Came to the Ohio Valley
Autumn came to the Ohio valley,
While hearts dropped like green buckeyes
In the panoply of orange and golden leaves.
Wheels sang on blue highways,
Birds chose to run or hide. Proud corn browned, row by row,
Ears cocked for the combine surely coming.
Surely this western migration also has meaning,
Like the ancient north south routes surely do.
Or perhaps all the routes are beats to the rhythm,
Of the moving hands of hours and minutes
Upon this clock of earth.
By Mac Hall
