Autumn Leaves
Again, they seem to watch as I walk slowly.
Under the faces of color which adorn lazily,
Talking amongst them in a whisper,
Usually I am calm and pay little or no attention.
My mind is wondering what favor they speak.
Never before have they whispered so intently.
Lingering, before tripping into the new season,
Each tone different though the same pattern.
Again the sound rises, just briefly then silences.
Viscously pounding me, covering in aggravation,
Escaping the clutches of debris from the source,
Scents of fall aroma, speaks volumes of their desires.
Copyright © Cecil Hickman | Year Posted 2009
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