Autumn
Has let itself be known.
Beyond this point crimson fire
Has burned through the horizon.
A shower of leaves blazes
Through the swaying reeds,
Mournful at its harvest.
The pink berry lives
in the fields of orange.
Sleek pines counter
the fluid movement of color.
We have lived through
the world together,
Gazing at the textiles of fall:
The yellow shores
and the azure bay,
The russet meadows and
the neon wildflowers.
Draping vines move
their petal fronds
With their transparent silver
and shades of gold.
And here are the chestnut
oaks as we speed
Towards the rising sun,
The world gray in the morning.
YOU ARE READING
Someone Like Me {Poetry}
PoetryWith power there come words. And with words there comes music. And with music there comes joy. And that's why I write poetry.
