Those days
Crisp, fresh
Curling leaves
Along our leafy lanes
Sunlight shortening
Shadows lengthening
Across my lonely afternoons
Those leaves
Crunched, work done
Frayed and split, Worm cast
Falling into Nature’s hands
Mist works from the Magic Earth
Whisping its way to the sky
Their essence gives new life
Months away, after decay
Where
Chilled mornings and balmy afternoons
Meet me in hope
Burning off the afternoon haze
Crisping the leaves
Dry, shattered
Colours from the bowl of God
Broken and dropped