Those days
Crisp, fresh
Curling those leaves
Along those leafy lanes
Sunlight shortened
Shadows lengthening
Across those lonely afternoons
Those leaves
Crunched, work done
Frayed and split, Worm cast
Falling into nature's hands
Their essence gives new life
Months away after decay
Chilled mornings and balmy afternoons
Mist works its way from the magic Earth
Whisping its way to the sky
Burning off in the afternoon haze
Crisping the leaves dry,shattered
Broken and dropped
Colours from the bowl of God.