Autumn Fetter
Autumn recites poetry to the manless meadow.
Switch off the light for the morning sun to bestow.
Nevermore will I impanel to greet this location.
Of greed-stricken brains and utter humiliation.
A few sips of soft drink into outer space.
To submerge the truth of the matter, for instance.
Is emphatically my strategy of permeability.
Somehow in this suffocating world fantasy.
My heart is a flower that has yet to bloom.
With frigid north winds and dreary fall gloom.
The picky masses crammed into rushing cars.
The same auld roads, the same auld traffic scars.
Exploring the changing hues of the leaves in the fall.
Broken pieces of golden light and low cloud squall.
Smells akin to a campfire on an autumn night.
The land is lit by an oak tree sunbeams light.
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