The Midas Touch

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.