A morning of mid-November

A mile of cluttered leaves
are sprawled across
the tattered soil below.
Paints of red, yellow, and green
inked through the fiery veins
of their immense passion.
Damp and soft is their
painted skin. The only
blotch of color in the
black and white mornings
of mid-November.
And there they will stay
until the next spring
brings a new generation
of blooming feathers, only
to end again as miles of cluttered
leaves on tattered soil.





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VampiericRain said...
May 20, 2010 at 6:15 pm
Love your work! As always! The repitition is just a amazing way to end this poem. Love it! Five stars! :)
 
cookiemonsterr[; replied...
May 21, 2010 at 7:11 pm
Thanks ! I always enjoy your work also ! thanks so much for the feedback ! I'll definitely get back to more of your poems !
 
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