Symbolism Is Mine
On a cold, chilly October autumn street,
One can watch bright coloured twirling leafs,
and the prompt urban wanders who walk on them,
you’d yearn to engage with these throngs at least,
how they might unravel a facade or two in sequence,
quite often on many occasions I imagine their stories,
If I only had the gumption to speak to them,
whirl pool rain and storms indeed might be a hindrance,
wind allied to drizzle an incentive to cafe caper refuge,
a general overall dampness, wet, drizzle, grey skies,
Predictable intrusion of the normal outlet that rambling obviously is,
instant topic to dwell on covering a wide range therein,
seasons have such insole penchant for moulding outlook,
symbolism is mine to grasp and expand on foot,
pavement as a slippy shivery theatrical perilous stage,
It can be perceived as home to the shrewd adaptable speaker,
actor, actress, character, playwright,
audience,
will the earnest crisp daylight morning fall fodder dominate?
as I boldly essay an impromptu unrehearsed passage in situ,
yet silent thoughtful conversation has already composed the script
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