Late Autumnal Flames
Autumn expires In its own fires
simmering the fallen with flaring tints.
Leaves crepitate and crackle
skived to crisp skins.
Hedgerows turn to vacant
crypts, twigs to wooden teeth.
Arboreal embers swirl
between barelegged winds.
The groundhogs have forsaken
dawns scant larders
they seek deeper shelters
where moss-beds lay unseared
by smoldering remnants.
Halloween will be late this year,
the dead are still dying.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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