Shhhhh, listen, can you hear her.

The changing seasons

Her breath is but a chill whisper,
a whisper that stirs the leaves of trees ablaze with autumnal hues,
these lit by a fading sun that will climb barely half sky height
before tumbling over an ever darkening horizon
casting long, grasping, shadows.
Flowers drained by summers oppressive heat bow down their heads in deference laying petals before her,
a pastel coloured carpet to welcome her arrival
this littered with burnished, over ripe fruit
given up by a host to tired to any longer hold.
A lone squirrel busies itself, scurrying, collecting, hiding,
for it too knows of her coming,
will see her in then sleep her away
whilst birds on the wing, soar, fly with her,
but only briefly before leaving for warmer climes
returning only when she herself is taking her leave.
Me, I have heard her whisper,
felt her chill breath on bared skin
and am already mourning the season just passed,
wishing that the oft bemoaned summer heat be back.
In hope I pray she be meek, mild, not raise her voice,
and spring will not be welcomed in with blessed relief
from that which went before.

Reviews

[Flowers of Eternity]

I love your work!! It's so descriptive and full of images. I can really imagine it. Good job..

[Gee]

Thank you..