Amber leaves twirling, showering, freefalling tumultuously,
Lingering in air as whimsical nostalgia
Beckons harmoniously the viewer’s senses
Eyes moistly twinkling, peering upon the honey and rose colored spectacle
Nose sniffing past the cool November air to smokestacks
Puffing thick white plumes of aromatic oak and hickory into the onward skies above
Ears alert to the crisp wind whipping through pines and ruffling piles of leaves leaving a wake of multicolored paper Mache tornadoes
Mouth inhaling the dry air stinging the tongue as a penny with
  lips curled, smiling in awe of the season and all its glory

My love has gone to war today and I can't hide the pain.
The tears I cry alone at night have fallen down like rain.
If my pillow where a rose, it would drink all night in bliss.
When I dream, I dream of being with you alone and how we kiss.
My love has gone to war today and I can't hide the fear.
I talk to you alone at night and hope that you can hear.
A rose left without water could, surely not, revive.
Yet, you have left me here and I am still alive.
My love has gone to war today and left me feeling blue.
I'll wipe my eyes, return to sleep, so I can be with you.

©Barry Doster

A dragon in the misty meadow rides on the skies of lore.
The sorcerer summons spells and casts them to the floor.
A green cloud plumes aloft the mystical magic ground.
The witch clenches her broom, readjusting her blackened crown.
A knight ensues valiantly toward the hellish threats.
He aims to stop the evil at once before the rising sun sets.
Alarmed at once the witch she perceives the warlocks warlocky spell.
and incants a notion to concoct a potion to summon the hounds of hell.
The hounds from hell and the green cloud propels the deadly duo to flight.
The knight races forward, closing in on the hoard at the brink of the end of the night.
At the brink of the end of the night,oh what a magical sight;
the knight races forward closing in on the hoard at the brink of the end of the night.
The dragon looms forward as the knight unsheathes his sword atop the serpentine beast.
He yells a battle cry, declaring: "prepare to die",whispering to the dragon,"lets feast".

White blinding snow glistens, reflecting the shine of the Christmas moon into glowing irises and memories of times long past will beckon reminiscent smiles.
Crunching of pine needles under the snow as the kiss of the December cold stings unprepared lungs, icy breathe exhales merry laughter throughout the night.
An over decorated Christmas tree twinkles and glints it’s seasonal aura off the multifaceted  gifts below, refracting wonderment into the bright eyes of awestruck children.
Enchantment and selfless love encircles the hearts and minds of loved ones gathered together in one accord, a peaceful sleep ensues allowing no doubt that God is near.

©Barry Doster