Old Game of Leaves

Crinkling hands, outstretching for last comfort
Rusty speckles, sentience all soaked up
Trunk limbs sapped veins on close up
Scented leaves bow before court
Autumn curtain falls, a seasonal sport
Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

Poem

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Connelly Avatar
November 12, 2019 at 2:32 PM
As i once practicing Druid I can taste the oakiness of this fine wine poetry Laura. Thank you.
Michael Avatar
November 12, 2019 at 2:18 PM
"a seasonal sport" An unique way to look at it...
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