There is something very romantic about autumn leaves.
By Richard Mabey Jr.
In early September of 1971, I turned 18. Swartswood Lake was a favorite place for my old girlfriend Penny and I. At 62, a man reflects. He goes through old shoeboxes filled with handwritten notes and poems. Some of them he had written on crumpled napkins. Some, he never mailed. And now, nearly 45 years later, he wishes he had.
In September of 1971, I began my freshman year at County College of Morris. I also worked the night crew at a grocery store. At three in the morning, while on my “supper break” at work, I would write poems for Penny on paper napkins.
O’ lost moment,
in heart and mind remember,
your sweet perfume scent,
of crisp, cold air of September.
You smiled, so sexy and sent
me to the deep flames ember,
for your kind words meant
the earth to this young rambler.
Your long brown hair,
waved in the autumn breeze,
my heart trapped in your snare,
I fell for you, with such ease.
Then you sat at that old wooden chair,
beneath the tall maple trees,
your perfume’s essence filled the air,
my heart’s pounding would not cease.
You looked hotter than a burning flame,
in your sweatshirt with your hair hanging down,
for your elegance and beauty would surely shame,
even Brigitte Bardot in her evening gown.