Why I Couldn’t Write a Poem

(It’s Fall’s fault.)

I sat under the maple tree
With a pen in my expectant hand
To create a brilliant thing of beauty
Inspired by a warm fall breeze

But a little bee came to dance
In yellowed leaves around my toes
So I had to watch its merry twirl
And forgot to think of clever words

Then honeyed sunlight fell just right
To turn my knees a fiery gold
And I thought how odd it was to blend
Like I belonged to this autumn day

All my lovely waiting words
Spun silent circles to the ground
And crunched under the jaunty hooves
Of a doe gliding through the yard

She stopped, staring a perfect moment
As if wondering why I was there
Which made me stop and wonder too
Why I still hadn’t written a thing

There’s nothing to add to a day like this
That’s gentle and soaked in gilded light
So instead of creating a beautiful thing
I’ll let beauty create in me