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julie Oct 2018
trees are changing their robes;
on misty mornings
I am sitting on my porch.
a book  
I've found in a vintage bookstore
at the corner of my street
is lying in my lap

drinking a tea
wrapped into my favorite blanket
and watching my neighbors
carving their pumpkins

smelling the scent
of firewood
while also listening to
Frank Sinatra

autumn, oh autumn
where have you been?
You promised kisses
beneath the old oak

You said you would give
youself to me then

Under the summer's
eager stary eyes

But they came
and cut the oak down

But not before
you left town

Now all I have
is the promise

Of firewood for those
cold lonely nights
Amanda Feb 2015
The bitter cold
nips at my neck
but I linger outside
if only to get a whiff of
the smoky smell
of firewood burning
that makes me nostaglic
for winter days.

— The End —