Love in the Fall

It is October, and the weather has clearly turned to Fall. I cannot stress enough my love for this season. Pumpkin and falling leaves are perpetually on my mind this time of year. Also, per usual, I've been thinking a lot about love, both in the romantic (for lack of a better word) sense and otherwise. This being the case, I wanted to post a poem I wrote in college about the Fall and love.

This poem is in a highly fixed form called a Sestina. A Sestina consists of six sextets and a triplet, totaling to thirty-nine lines. Each line of the sextets is ten words long. The six words that end each line of the sextets are repeated throughout using a system called retrogradatio cruciata, Latin for "retrograde cross." The pattern is as follows:
123456
615243
364125
532614
451362
246531
The triplet then contains all six end words.

I took some liberties in the nature of these words, specifically focusing more on the sound of the words, as language was ultimately spoken first, with writing developed later only as a way to record what was being spoken. My poetry teacher did not appreciate this, though it made for what I look back on eight years later as one of my favorite poems I've ever written. The cheesiness is intentional, conveying the shallow and vapid nature of the "love," which is of course only seasonal. Without further ado, Love in the Fall.

Love in the Fall is the best love of all.
I sit beneath the trees, thinking gladly of us two
sitting in dying grass amidst a pile of fallen leaves.
The breeze reminds me of you, soft and sweet.
At night, I look at stars. Is anything more beautiful?
But when I see your eyes, I think I know...

And then comes winter, with the cold and the snow,
and April really is the cruelest month of them all.
But soon comes summer, when the weather is too beautiful.
Then it's autumn again in just a month or two,
and we move like the seasons with movements so soft,
as one person cries while the other person simply leaves.

But I think we should dance, like falling golden leaves,
and I would ask, but I'm afraid you'd say no.
I touch your hand, and your hand touches back: soft
pulses of electricity fill my body...I'm left in awe.
It's like the whole world is gone but us two.
But I don't deserve this moment - you're just too beautiful.

And I guess that I can't truly comprehend beauty fully:
it's something deep inside of you that will never leave.
And though I want to I don't know how to
love. And I want to learn, but I don't know
how to. And when I try, I know I'll fall
flat on my face (it's expected, having happened quite oft).

Sometimes love is hard, not always so easy and soft;
and looks fade, but love brings out inner beauty, full
of character, not like what our society preaches at all.
Love never crumbles like a pile of dries up leaves.
When it comes to love, this is all I know,
and soon I hope to learn another thing or two.

I hope you're learning all about what love is too
so that, as I cry my tears that flow softly,
I'll still have a reminder (something to let me know
without the slightest hint of doubt) that you're stunningly beautiful.
But when what I can see on the outside leaves,
it's still there to remind me you have it all.

Love is patient. Love that leaves is no love at all.
And I know you're soft and beautiful,
but if I concentrate too much on that I'll fall.

It is October, and the weather has clearly turned to Fall. I cannot stress enough my love for this season. Pumpkin and falling leaves are perpetually on my mind this time of year. Also, per usual, I've been thinking a lot about love, both in the romantic (for lack of a better word) sense and otherwise. This being the case, I wanted to post a poem I wrote in college about the Fall and love.

This poem is in a highly fixed form called a Sestina. A Sestina consists of six sextets and a triplet, totaling to thirty-nine lines. Each line of the sextets is ten words long. The six words that end each line of the sextets are repeated throughout using a system called retrogradatio cruciata, Latin for "retrograde cross." The pattern is as follows:
123456
615243
364125
532614
451362
246531
The triplet then contains all six end words.

I took some liberties in the nature of these words, specifically focusing more on the sound of the words, as language was ultimately spoken first, with writing developed later only as a way to record what was being spoken. My poetry teacher did not appreciate this, though it made for what I look back on eight years later as one of my favorite poems I've ever written. The cheesiness is intentional, conveying the shallow and vapid nature of the "love," which is of course only seasonal. Without further ado, Love in the Fall.

Love in the Fall is the best love of all.
I sit beneath the trees, thinking gladly of us two
sitting in dying grass amidst a pile of fallen leaves.
The breeze reminds me of you, soft and sweet.
At night, I look at stars. Is anything more beautiful?
But when I see your eyes, I think I know...

And then comes winter, with the cold and the snow,
and April really is the cruelest month of them all.
But soon comes summer, when the weather is too beautiful.
Then it's autumn again in just a month or two,
and we move like the seasons with movements so soft,
as one person cries while the other person simply leaves.

But I think we should dance, like falling golden leaves,
and I would ask, but I'm afraid you'd say no.
I touch your hand, and your hand touches back: soft
pulses of electricity fill my body...I'm left in awe.
It's like the whole world is gone but us two.
But I don't deserve this moment - you're just too beautiful.

And I guess that I can't truly comprehend beauty fully:
it's something deep inside of you that will never leave.
And though I want to I don't know how to
love. And I want to learn, but I don't know
how to. And when I try, I know I'll fall
flat on my face (it's expected, having happened quite oft).

Sometimes love is hard, not always so easy and soft;
and looks fade, but love brings out inner beauty, full
of character, not like what our society preaches at all.
Love never crumbles like a pile of dries up leaves.
When it comes to love, this is all I know,
and soon I hope to learn another thing or two.

I hope you're learning all about what love is too
so that, as I cry my tears that flow softly,
I'll still have a reminder (something to let me know
without the slightest hint of doubt) that you're stunningly beautiful.
But when what I can see on the outside leaves,
it's still there to remind me you have it all.

Love is patient. Love that leaves is no love at all.
And I know you're soft and beautiful,
but if I concentrate too much on that I'll fall.

Love in the Fall