Oh how I love my sister
Autumn when she dances
in the fields, all frayed
nerves and woollen sleeves…

Yes, I love my sister
Harvest when she swings her golden
braids, her brimming baskets,
her distilled plums in well-corked bottles…

And yes I love my sister
Fall, her way with leaves, her wistful
song, her gossamer shawl…
I love my sisters Autumn, Harvest, Fall –

but I love my littlest sister
my sweet sleeping baby sister
yes I love my sister Winter
best of all.

Laura Theis
Latest posts by Laura Theis (see all)

Leave a Reply