The Midas Touch
By Don Blanding

A clear October day
with all the world
A blaze of gold where
frost had touched the leaves,
The goldenrod's tall scepters
by the fence,
The harvest's gold in heaps
and stacks and sheaves.
My eyes were gladdened
by the friendly sun,
My thoughts were gay
as melodies of birds,
I walked along the road,
while in my heart
Was golden song that
sought to find the words.
Some thought... I can't recall it
... broke the spell,
Some memory with
hate and hurt imbued,
Rose up like fog
to gray the radiant scene
While in my heart
dark distillations brewed.
My swinging stride
slowed to a dragging plod,
My pleasant dreams
and happy musings fled.
The world itself
was golden as before
Until my thoughts
had turned that gold to lead.
I had reversed
the Midas touch of old.
I practice now
to turn dull lead to gold.