Crispness of Autumn
Rough footsteps sifting through the crisp, torte leave's,
a grey matter of cloud's over head,
the crisp, crunch of the fresh fallen leave's,
it stills my beating heart,
that noise,
that simple sound,
I aghast.
The array of colors,
falling at their masses,
I want to skip, to run,
and hear the vital sounds beneath,
a laugh, a smile, a grin,
of what might have and could of been.
Copyright © Amanda Sullivan | Year Posted 2012
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment