Season

Season end

the morning

 

scents of

crisp cold

 

days to

come.

 

Apples ripe

now summer’s

 

just a dream;

 

sun drenched

scenes,

 

supper under

August moon

 

wine & song;

back then

 

it seemed

that laughter’d

 

never end.

 

Here

cherry tree

 

has lost

her glow,

 

clouds

roll in:

 

for you

&  me

 

another year

plucks with

 

unknown

fingers

 

whispers

‘sleep’

 

autumn mist

&  memories.

 

 

 

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2 thoughts on “Season

  1. Randy Lusk says:

    Beautiful. Still a month away from feeling Autumn’s arrival here…104 today. Am reminded of Verlaine’s poem:

    Les sanglots longs Des violons De l’automne Blessent mon cœur D’une langueur Monotone. Tout suffocant Et blême, quand Sonne l’heure, Je me souviens Des jours anciens Et je pleure; Et je m’en vais Au vent mauvais Qui m’emporte Deçà, delà, Pareil à la Feuille morte.

    >

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