Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Purity of Season

Autumn passes by the window,
Cold as lemonade in heat
Gold bright footsteps slowly passing
Covered by a frosty sheet,
Leaves sweet-passing on the thresh hold
Of the cabin in the wood,
Little peak'd roof encumbered
By the crimson sunset's hood.
Mourning doves sing deep and warmly
On the bough above the door,
Chipmunks scurry in the shadows
Of the forest's drifting floor
And the light slips in the morning
Swipes the shingles and the walk
Acorns glitter in the twilight
Like brown diadems of chalk.
Autumn seems so pure and perfect
When it's race has just begun...
Gleaming, shimmering in evening
Sparkling in midday sun.

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