Three Autumn Leaves

A short poem about a crisp fall morning.

There I sat, on the old white porch of my great grandmothers home. This morning is nothing but idyllic; the soft scent of apple cider warms my red nose form this chilly November weather. I pull my house robe closer around me to warm myself form the cool breeze and there I sat. My ink to paper, it clung like the quilt that blankets me in the mornings. My chair creaks as I lean forward to brush a burnt leaf off of my feet. Another, a few, drifted towards me, the wind cradling them. They hesitated to land but the wind gifted them to me and on my paper they lay. Three autumn leaves. One dried red and amber while the other two wore brown. Gently I lifted a brown one, in return it crumbled and fell away. I lifted the other brown one and I threw it to the wind, away it went. Then the amber one lay there, gazing at me. I gently flattened it along my paper and took my ink to it. 'Should I ever, love won't fall to lust' I printed on the leaf. I let it dry and then held it in my palm. Away it blew with my heart.

Author's Note

Blreh