A
Slight tilt of axis
That runs through
All sustaining terrains
Startles
A fresh leaf amongst
Leas,
The beat despairs
Of its own pathetic celerity
And admires the tot's,
Watching,
As
It
Grasps
Turfs in its
Citrus veiny hands,
Curls
Tipping head up,
Curving along the angles right,
(Winds
Slanting
it's jagged edges,
Sunshine
Varnishing
it's pallid gold,
Skies
Canopying
it's fallen dew)
Yet
Shakes
Off tranquil breaths
To
Steady
Against a nescient slope
And
Thus
Adjourns a fall tonight.
A/N:- Have you got your reflex checked ? Alas, it integrates as we age. ;))
YOU ARE READING
Handwritten
Poetry"Sometimes I wonder If this is how it's supposed to be Can I make a choice ? Or is it all meant to be?"...
