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The-war-underneathPoems
No I won't call it fall. Crisp is the feeling. Crisp is the taste. Apples on the trees. Wind through the air. The leaves carry my soul. Everlasting into the winters edge. Hold me close my dear. It's that crisp time of year.
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Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
Crisp
No I won't call it fall. Crisp is the feeling. Crisp is the taste. Apples on the trees. Wind through the air. The leaves carry my soul. Everlasting into the winters edge. Hold me close my dear. It's that crisp time of year.
#poetry#fall#nature#leaves#crisp
The-war-underneath
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The-war-underneath
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
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