A mound of Autumn's finery, Roughed by the gale Turns in pirouette Pressed against steel clouds. A child plays near to where This mound was spent away Mustering only showery gold Upon the infant's hair. Through the lens of time I see me Child of the Autumn playtime And if I knew than what I know now... Sign in to see full entry.
Like so many flecks of gold, The leaves turn in to show A rapt and crimson sign to wind That time bestrides them all, And thus, we fall. A gilded populous filled, Green waning to bronze, Raining in funnel whirls Leaving tan and ashen boughs The fight real yet to come; And thus we fall, Into each... Sign in to see full entry.