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In Autumn
Night’s shadows fall more quickly now,
and birds will soon forsake their bough.
A melancholy has begun,
for summering has come undone.
As autumn winds begin to blow,
and in the shadows – sun hangs low -
behold what wonder shall unfold
in orange, crimson, rust and gold.
Yes, colors burst from every tree,
and in this beauty I can see
a potpourri of imagery -
the harvesting of poetry!
Sept. 12, 2020
For Brian Strand's the 'COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE (16)any form any theme' Poetry Contest
Copyright ©
Andrea Dietrich
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