crusty leafs of a faded paper browned,
by the waning transience of its youth
it has stained the soiled ground.
“Autumn! Autumn! Where art thou?”
your maple fingers,
conceal your emerald veins,
as the blood rushes below.
Fire lilies flutter to a solstices flow
a wind blows them to their graves
withered timeless fires glow
a dimmed spring face
overshadowed by fluorescent waves
Begging for a winters frost
a canopy of silver rain
releasing a final blank sheet
of an ice rink of snow.
(c) 2012 Sherline. N.T.