the crinkled papers of red leaves flew
like birds in flight fluttering through
lit like lanterns with glowing light
spiraling down, orange children's kites
peppered with chocolate spice and herbs
the pine cones grow and crunch and curve
old trees arms reaching out to grasp
an apples stem or old books clasp
can't quite reach the next friends arm
covered in soft green lichen yarn
yellow ginkgo's shed their golden feathers
bodies swaying in autumnal weather
whispering woods of colors grand
once a year those barked figures stand
upon yellowing grass, like pages of a book
burgundy bellows from the bubbling brook
above the water cold ravens perch
like a silent whisper in an abandoned church
wings flapping ebony with audubon strength
splashing maroon on the river bank
as seeds float along on the quiet calm ripples
the green tree life promptly boughs and cripples
the crisp cold winds blowing debris along
while ornamented owls sing their solitary song
and look down upon the dying meadow
which swallows the birds hallowed shadow
there lay the gnarly gourds of the season
covered in warts, a voice of reason
soon to decay and leave behind just seeds
they howl and moan as the sun recedes
vined stems lurch upon the permafrosted ground
like witches hair and wind chimes' sounds
when the night is over and the sun peeks through
to soft warm pastels of a morning crows coo
the winding leaves once again begin
to swirl and smile with red chagrin
YOU ARE READING
Owen's Poetry Archive
PoesíaWhen I write a poem that actually turns out well, it goes here.
