In Praise of Swamps

Swamps are the glory of the fall -
Their blaze defiant, profligate, obscene.
In lurid reds and jaundice-yellows, bright
With luminous decay, they flaunt themselves,

While stately wooded hills, too cramped and smooth,
March boldly on, in proud, in tedious ranks,
And lone trees high in pastures reach
Their peak too quickly, and are scarecrow-bare.

Give swamps their season; give them this, their due.
No foot will find its comfort where they lie,
Nor will a straight and questing tower break
Their mucky earth, and thereby breach the sky;

But this distinction they uniquely claim:
To be the jewel in autumn's crown of flame.

[October 2016]