Sanguine Autumn

October 5, 2010
I sat against the old oak tree at Summer’s End,

To observe nothing short of majesty.

Where the blue birds and swallows bellowed high

Scattering their plumage to the lamenting earth.

Decaying leaves of solemn memories compiled

Rot and wither away,

I saw the old woman swatting with her cane

Hoping to return what she left behind.

Soon, she’d be the same as those leaves; to wallow

Away into the sanguine autumn

But soon wasn’t enough for her bedraggled old locks.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback