Fall

for me, is but a time when all my children lose their lime; their pointy fingers start to rust, and scatter round like aimless dust. for me, is loneliness and thoughts of worshipping Her less- my children, bound by Her decree, innately loose themselves from me. for me, is caustic thoughts of how my children flailed and fought to mute commands from heartless wind that tolls when bonded limbs must rend. for me, is presence spent without the warmth of their content- my children tossed into the fire against my motherly desire. for me, is paper pain with somber wind and hazel rain, the counting of my children lost- three months before the deadening frost. for me, is dead rebirth, the loss of life to save my worth- my former children swept by fate; though more, my mistress shall create.