Vagabond Aflame

Agony, misery, woe not to know what you miss

There were no submissions for the last Wicked Word Wednesday, and I must admit I was somewhat disappointed. I love October and the fall, and had purposefully waited to use “aflame” for the first week of autumn.

Why? Because “Vagabond Song” by Bliss Carman is one of my favorite poems:

There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood—
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;
We must rise and follow her,
When from every hill of flame
She calls and calls each vagabond by name.