Slave to Autumn
Chains of rustling leaves
By ᔕᗩᗰ ᕼᗩᖇTYPublished about a year ago • Updated about a year ago • 1 min read
Flowers bloom under salmon pink sunsets
grass grows and runs away with itself
newly born baby birds fly or fall
Yes, spring is finally in the air but
why am I so unimpressed with it all?
I yearn for cold, the crisp cool wind
my tennis shoes rustling the leaves
as I walked to her house where
the main street ends.
Autumn is my Master who beckons
me to stand tall against the sometimes
bitter coldness that stays around
and on into the fall.
About the Creator
ᔕᗩᗰ ᕼᗩᖇTY
Sam Harty is a poet of raw truth and quiet rebellion. Author of Lost Love Volumes I & II and The Lost Little Series, her work confronts heartbreak, trauma, and survival with fierce honesty and lyrical depth. Where to find me
Comments (1)
Ah, Autumn. You know, when I was younger, it used to be my favourite season but now, older, I love the freshness of spring. I wonder if it's because of my waning and shrinking!