Autumn Dawdles
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Mosaics of orange and crimson
rot with the last migrating duck.
And barren soil, littered with death,
stripped of its grandeur, turns to muck.
Autumn dawdles well past its end,
no longer painting leaves with its light.
And as scarlet inks the clouds pink,
twilight slowly morphs into night.
Murky skies colored charcoal-grey
blotter patches of blue away.
And like a black blanket of smoke,
shadows stealthily shadow day.
Bare branches rattle in the wind,
contemplating the coming snow.
And clinging to the horizon,
the sun's bleeding fingers let go.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2016
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