A poem #14 – The pride and suffering of Autumn

Rich red and orange leaves,
you sing the song of the autumn breeze.
Carried on the ghosts of summer,
falling to earth in a bird-like flutter.

A thousand trees have shed their skins,
as bare as the lonely lark does sing.
Lost to the thick foreboding night,
through naked limbs narrow calls take flight.

Vibrant red and orange leaves,
you warm the earth and bring it to ease.
A soft blanket to wrap it safe,
hidden away from winter’s embrace.

The world sleeps in the still night air,
not a call from the wind, not even a care.
No scurry of feet, no beating of wings,
just Autumn’s pride ‘gainst Autumn’s suffering.

JP Collins

JP Collins

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