Turn Coat
The apricot sunlight of an early fall afternoon
caresses an empty picnic table.
A still pine forest exhales,
expending its essence on the rising moon.
Walkers warm in fleece pace,
each stride distressing the fallen needles,
and the wayward squirrel nut in cheek.
Geese attend the lake’s edge,
their arched necks appearing to question
each wayward breeze which disturbs
the still waters of the pond.
The playground now empty
of its wiggling little ones, sighs forlornly,
as its chains are aired in a whistle-like concord.
So, the day ends at the golden hour, peacefully,
awaiting the turning of the maples leafs.
*The fine line is between the end of summer and the beginning of fall.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
