Post by Sparrow on Oct 2, 2012 19:37:12 GMT -5
This is the poem for the month of October in my series of poems for each month of the year.
October
October moon hangs full and low,
as harvest time draws near.
October's own enchantress walks
beneath the glowing sphere.
Illuminating chill of night,
her fingers cast a spell.
She conjures magic with her breath,
as gypsy's tales will tell.
For as she passes through the wood,
and on the village lane,
the old trees shiver with her touch
of red and orange stain.
And when the moon has gone to bed,
and sunlight bathes the wood-
a burst of crimson color glows
where plain old trees once stood.
a non-rhymer for fall....
Autumn
Autumn
sees her mortality
in the waning year.
Defying brittle old age,
she throws her arms wide,
flinging a blast of lustrous color
beneath a shock
of sparkling sapphire.
Like an aging lady
smelling of mothballs,
she sighs, sharp and pungent.
Her sun, slanting summer's brilliance,
warms with melancholy glow...
kissing our cheeks
goodbye.
October
October moon hangs full and low,
as harvest time draws near.
October's own enchantress walks
beneath the glowing sphere.
Illuminating chill of night,
her fingers cast a spell.
She conjures magic with her breath,
as gypsy's tales will tell.
For as she passes through the wood,
and on the village lane,
the old trees shiver with her touch
of red and orange stain.
And when the moon has gone to bed,
and sunlight bathes the wood-
a burst of crimson color glows
where plain old trees once stood.
a non-rhymer for fall....
Autumn
Autumn
sees her mortality
in the waning year.
Defying brittle old age,
she throws her arms wide,
flinging a blast of lustrous color
beneath a shock
of sparkling sapphire.
Like an aging lady
smelling of mothballs,
she sighs, sharp and pungent.
Her sun, slanting summer's brilliance,
warms with melancholy glow...
kissing our cheeks
goodbye.
