Old trunks of oak and red
Stand weathered close together
Rough cracks adorn their bark
Hewn while giants slumber
In the stone
We are walking hand in hand
Along the winding road
Where russet and gold crunch underfoot
As the first beginnings of snow
Drift down
The air is grey with stillness
The sun is dim behind
The water is clear and whispers
Strange things into our ears
We pass it by
Faint curls of warmth
Rise above our heads
While we stroll through the woods
A squirrel sits atop a branch
And waves to us
Goodnight
YOU ARE READING
Erinn's Collection of Poetry
PoetryPoems that float around in my head that are lucky enough to be written down.