Trees that surround us whisper in the wind,
their leaves falling like secrets of nature.
The lake, murmurs under the surface,
setting, settling for winter.
Red leaves are smeared across our path
like evidence, a bloody crime, a hint of what’s to come.
Flowers dance in the autumn breeze,
like brightly coloured marbles
skipping around the world.
Soon the change comes, they roll away
as we pass skeletons of trees
and a stone statue lagoon, a gravestone of seasons
which once flowed and rippled at a touch.
We must whisper our last secret,
dance our last dance, leave our autumn world.
© Caitriona Hansen
© Caitriona Hansen
No comments:
Post a Comment