Autumn is the chill of blowing wind
Continuous through long nights
As tiny feet withdraw into warm bedsheets,
Their owner afraid of the beast howling outside.
Autumn is the smell of ambrosia
Lingering in a small house,
two hours before anyone is allowed back in
because someone tasted the mashed potatoes.
Autumn is a crowded family table
with tight spaces, too much food to eat,
and no children at the adults table--
they've all got crimson glasses of sour stuff anyway.
Autumn is the laughter of children,
the ones with flushed faces and red noses
who jump--whoosh!--into the most
stunning array of brown, red and gold leaves.
YOU ARE READING
Poem Collection
PoetryI'll be putting quite a few of my poems up here! I will change the title as soon as I have a better feel for the overall feel of the thing. Thanks!
