Early fall leaves
Shimmer red and yellow.
Air crisps
To an edge
Hollow and sharp,
Cool portent
Of ice to come.
Long forks pull
Through grass,
Gathering chaos
Of leavings
Into mounds
Of order and disposition.
Profusion of color
Fades into
A funeral shroud
Of clouded gray,
Dulled brown,
Preparing for a tombstone
Of bareness.
3 comments:
I liked this...
"Air crisps
To an edge"
I liked doing poetry again last night. Too much fun! :)
Re: your comment on Seedlings...
I love that you are trying on the word "poet." :)
a wonderful explosion of words arranged so well around fall.
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