Back to the trail
yet going a different way,
toward old battlefield
of grassy stubble
and straw and hay,
old wood fences
and barren trees
amongst the evergreens
and those of changing leaves,
early in cool November day.
Our little walks are happy.
Our little walks are treasured.
Our little walks are satisfying
and will always be remembered.
Mapled biscuits and
spiced apple waffles
come at morning's end.
And I smile when we rest,
because I know
just how deeply I am blessed.
YOU ARE READING
Autumn Moods
PoetryPumpkin spice, apple ciders and campfires on chilly nights -- poetry and prose for the fall season.
