Fall is here
and someone spilled a million cans of paint and now
the forest is splashed with gold and red
and through it all trickles silver
just a slash
among and over dull gray mounds that pass for rocks
the impression I get is that you don't love me anymore
and now our love has reached its brightest and most colorful stage its value to you is scarce
and that in a short while
a strong gust of wind will rip it from its branch
sending it spiraling to the forest floor

have I read this right

or did you have some other message in mind

Whit Howland © 2019