Poetry

November 

As if overnight, the bright pigmented leaves drop away,

Leaving tree limbs bare and reaching up to the sky.

Grasping at the last leaves of autumn, branches sway,

Naked limbs against the sky, no longer covered nor shy.

 

Let us not fear these bare tree limbs of cold November,

Below we shuffle through leaves full of rustling sounds.

Bright autumnal colors may have dulled even browner,

As we walk upon old and brittle leaf covered grounds.

 

Look up at the last few leaves on the scantly clad trees,

Awaiting the wintery blasts of icy winds to be dislodged.

Wait not for our love to fall to the ground and flee,

Because our love lasts, unable to fade or be displaced.

 

The last leaf of autumn hangs on, ever so precarious,

But our love is one lasting forever, never so vicarious.

 

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