Among the long grass of the land and reed,
there is a lonely place where thoughts are freed,
Saint Martin's summer spreads upon the lake
in warm conditions all domains partake.
The blazing, orange skies, on earth reflect
perfection's lingering details connect
a red, still hanging leaf has caught my gaze
spotlighted in the sun's last golden rays.
This leaf, upon the branch, began to wave,
(it's ending, little life I could not save),
and swept away by Autumn's windy rake,
imprinted ripples on the peaceful lake.
The leaf was carried, as my eyes complied,
then drowned inside the lake's blue waves that shied,
the sweeping northern gust, the leaf discerped,
that neath the surface is forever kept.
Written by Kelly Deschler September 19th, 2014
Revised by Giorgio A. V.
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