On these orange boulevards at noon
The wind, the sun, oh they’re painting portraits!
A certain cold peace, in all that’s here
And a cheerful song of forgotten days
Winter is destined with a silence I sing
A story that’s later, irrelevant, outlived
But for now the fall glows, endures
Like drowsy spells, on what’s left to forgive
I carry a year, a love of many things
Influenced, real, slow and sure
I carry a choice, A notion on my wings
Like red leaves falling in a golden allure.
-Al
- Author: Alan R (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
- Published: October 20th, 2024 20:12
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 12
Comments1
Just some Ann Arboreal things.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.