Ragged aster, orange jewelweed,
Burgundy chrysanthemum—
The season closes in a fury of colors.
Leaves writhe vermillion as autumn
Picks boughs clean of green on the edge
Of a breeze.
All that is lush shall soon know bareness.
The lean glory of the snowflake,
The perfect stillness of death,
Every hue hushed into mute radiance as
Tattered stars shroud a world made of dreams—
Why did you wake up before me?
*A poem for my mother's sudden passing
YOU ARE READING
Prickmedainty Poetry
PoetryFor all those who broke their glass slipper and still search for stars in the shards.
