Autumn
If perchance your eye strays,
And of our leaves you note,
That on the golden sun’s rays,
There rides in as a boat,
A caravan of promised goods
Brought forth to these forgotten woods,
You’ll see a scene of orange and red,
No strokes of brown and green,
And plants that hope to soon be dead,
Within this forlorn scene.
For though the chill of winter’s stare
Makes breezes blow in cold,
Though sunlight ventures here so rare,
And never now as bold,
Though the skies have ceased their crying,
And though we all shall soon be dead,
Though these woods of ours are dying,
We boldly wear our suits of red.
17-Feb-2010 01:16:56
- Last edited on
17-Feb-2010 01:18:39
by
Yrolg