Notes from Autumn

By Alexandria Somirs 

Autumn’s spider-vein paper,

bright and fresh,

Is sun-kissed into copper sashes.

Leaflets, leaflets

Scorched and marked,

Hanging on their cinnamon-stick bark,

From their tree-top view,

They try as they might,

To hang on tight,

To get not one, but maybe two more

Sun-rise glows

Sketched or scribbled

On their crisp-paper faces.

Alas one day, winter came howling,

He bit and chewed

With his icy hues,

Scratched and worn,

Autumn wrote her last leaflet,

With her cinnamon stick pen,

Her last amen.


Photo by Alexandria Somirs

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