Autumn Waning
Gone are the bright leaves of the fall,
And barren branches stand so tall,
The wind cuts through my meager clothes;
A bit of chill upon my nose.
The sky so dreary, and people weary,
But pink-tinged clouds at sunset shout
Of beauty gracing —
Silver-lined clouds lacing.
And still the air is not so cold.
But wintry temper’tures so bold
Will soon bring flurries and people hurrying
To still the chill within their souls.
clarakatalin 