Begin this read with the patter of rain,
As a night wind pushes a storm on.
Though this house’s frame may pop and grown,
I hold one last moment of Autumn gold.
It’s likely fingertips of winter,
Will soon turn each singing drop to gliding flake.
Wrapping my burnished heart in cleansing white,
I will still hold onto this last bloom from a garden serene.
So disjointed do I feel,
Sensing the cold breathe of winter,
Even amidst the songs of this my favorite season.
So let me rest in the arms of my love,
While this world passes from one painted stage to the next.
All the while I will hold in my mind,
Autumn’s last bloom.
Surround each coursing rivulet,
With a warmth of this mind where no winter can touch.
I need to rest my spinning head,
And dream of what was once green and blooming.
Leave me be that I dream of lavender,
And crisp crunching leaves under these feet.
Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.