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Low hanging mist; laden’s spent papery leaves2
To be bejewelled in the Indian summer’s light3
A cool tinge to the morning air4
The scent of earthiness and decay; reclamation by the soil5
Fallen and laid, this ruby, bronzed and golden gown6
Through which we wander and kick our way7
Strewn; the already fallen fruits lie, a treasure for all to plunder8
A time for storing for the lean ahead9
A time for nature to prepare to pull up its leafy quilt and put itself to bed 10
Benign and torpid; it whiles away the winter deep in slumber11
Kept warm by the afterglow, of spring turned into summer12
Autumn awaits its return of rite again.13
Author notes
Picture credit to Harri Eliasson
A contest entry
- Seasons by Mistress Cheetah.
180 points, ended September 24, 6 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next story in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Beautiful poem. Nicely done.
beginning: 5, language: 5, plot: 5, ending: 5, dialog: 5, characters: 5.
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thanks for your comments. This was one of those poems that just wrote itself.
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Great poem.A sweet poem.I loved it.I dont know why.As I was reading it,and thinking the words I just felt joy.Good poem very good poem.
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I will say it is a true beautiful poem
happy writing
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