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Poem

Colors of leaves in autumn weave a lovely quilt

covering the countryside, woods, and waters

falling like snowflakes from the tallest of trees

lighting the forest like a candelabra until the first snow.

She was there by the pond painting the weeping willows;

She never spoke a word, just watched the trees and their

swaying branches in the late afternoon breeze then

disappeared into the haze of a newborn twilight.

There was poetry as she floated silently above the grass

while wavelets ran up the beach chasing little shorebirds

and rhythms in ebbing waves upon rocks;

like the taste of a tear as it slowly finds its way to the lips.

Broken cobwebs capturing pieces of dead leaves

now turning pirouettes like a ballerina in the breeze

hanging there suspended between tall trees.

Hearing the tolling of the valley’s brass bell;

faithful in awe at a soft whispering magic of the moon.

Birds at the feeder bring a smile to one’s dull day

while tired of sitting in the sun praying for a halcyon rain.

Hearing sister crying brushing knots out of her long hair;

I wonder about the ghost girl painting the weeping willows

reappearing in a wispy smoke on the breeze;

an enchantment of infinity to those who believe.

This Or That, Vol 8 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
11/17/2021

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