they know their time is near.
Around them, the leaves wilt and brown;
their time's already here.
The frost comes thick and soon will slick
on flower, leaf and clover.
The branches sigh as seasons die.
The cause? One word: Shocktober!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Will you please stop writing excellent poems while I write none? ;-)
Post a Comment