Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2014
The dull leaves
cry and crackle as
the sharp winds strains
their stalks.

They flutter through
the wayward wood
like the ever searching cuckoos.

Ochre, the sad oak gleams, barer
in the morning rays.

Diamond frost melts once more
into the crisp leaves which,
from crunchy embers, soften
as they drench

Satin turns to pumpkin
and mahogany
as melancholic
November approaches.
Liz
Written by
Liz  London
(London)   
1.1k
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems