Autumn Dawdles
Pigments of orange and crimson,
fade 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 light.
And as scarlet inks the sunset,
twilight slowly morphs into night.
Absorbent sponges, clouds of grey
blotter icy blue skies away.
And like a curtain of black smoke,
shadows stealthily shadow day.
Bare branches rattle in the wind,
contemplating the coming snow.
And clinging to the horizon,
daylight's sticky fingers: let go.
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