Autumn's Appeal

These shorter days of the year's senescence
Calm. The dawn is slow to come, its cold
And fallen leaves sufficient evidence that
Summer's frantic labor's finished. What
Was done's become undone, and dusk
Arrives with cocktails, early. Darkness
Dooms us to these curtained rooms, and
Hurries us into our bed. Beneath its piled
Blankets, consciousness subsiding, we
Are calm.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 10 times
Written on 2011-10-28 at 18:52

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