Fire:
Glittering leaves
fall softly in death
carpeting the cooling ground.
Copper hues
conducting static energy,
making the air sting.
Seemingly alive
the season dances;
playing a mocking game of change,
leaving the rest of the world
trailing sluggishly behind,
hugged still by the ashes of summer.
Sconces on trees
glow angelically,
looking more alive as they die.
As if laughing to themselves,
they whisper as the wind howls.
Colours embrace;
old friends, together only once a year.
Natsbythesea 