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Autumn leaves fly
in the wind, blow
across the land, crumble
under foot, and color
soil in shades alive.
Pages flutter,
as books are read,
folio all, tapestry
of words, sprinkle
silently across sight.
People wisp away
from our life, littering
memory with faint
remnants, crumbling heart,
and stalling soul.
© 2009 Lisa G. Beaudoin
10 Ways to Say “This Novel Isn’t What You Think”
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photo adapted / Horia Varlan
After a string of heavy reads last fall, I wanted to get swept away in some
pure entertainment. I figured the light pink, fl...
1 day ago
1 comment:
I love this poem! Wow. Especially the last stanza.
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