Autumn's breeze
flows across the
moonlit sky,
upon the ground it falls.
Dust turns to dawn.
The burnt orange
glows with its
murderous red,
its shriveled-up flowers
of ponderous grace.
Does it fall,
Autumn's breeze
flowing across the
moonlit sky as
it dances wildly,
mocking the ground?
Does it take only words
to say, Autumn's breeze
sings its lasting song
evermore?
Cristine, please let me know if I need to change anything on this. Thanks!
