Russ Eidson wrote this poem.

The Wind of Autumn
By Russ Eidson

The wind of autumn
blows across the schoolyard.
The rain is a gray
and steady drizzle.

The leaves have not started to turn–
a car rides by with a rap tune
blaring out obscenities–
then a sharp yell
from a postadolescent voice–
all for shock value.

This is a type of tired day,
where my hands ache from the soaking rain
and the subtle chill–
a 16-hour shift of being assaulted
by psychosis kinda tired,
yet in this grayness
is a numbing comfort–
where you stare out the window
during your Latin class
and see the strobe lights
of those yellow school buses …
golden chariots
waiting to lift all the children
above those clouds
and back into the sunlight
and warmth
that is always there.