Like a mutual suicide pact
The leaves plummet in numbers.
They mix: rust, cinnamon, gold.
An autumn rainbow.
Descend with the gauge.
All that’s alive, now slowly dying.
Roots veiled from winter’s fury.
The sparkling coat of ice and cold.
Gradually, the diamonds relent,
The greenery springs brightly.
Dew drops glistening
Proclaiming loudly:
Alive! What was once dead!
Scorching and rising
The sphere above bakes the land
Frigidity becomes an amenity
So long forgotten.
With gracious eventuality,
Harvest in bloom,
And withering present,
Autumn shines again soon. |
Submission Name: The Four Seconds To The Year
