Joseph Enright


Autumn


Autumn came in multicolors last year,
Fiery reds and burnished oranges
Bright yellows and rusty greens,
Painted leaves that floated
From barren branches
And rested lightly on the sleeping grass
The musty smell of dying things
So particular to autumn
Lingered in the air.
Death comes spectacularly
Proudly, in Autumn.

'This is not Death 'I thought
Death is the sand of your lifes hourglass,
Spilling grain by ever decreasing grain
Onto the scales of Death'

Autumn is the time of sleeping
The dawn of a new beginning.

Submitted: Saturday, February 02, 2008

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  • Mary Gordley (2/3/2008 12:18:00 AM)

    Joseph I find both beauty and a melancholy mood in this fine piece of writing. Autumn does indeed seem linked with that stage in life when one begins to carry on with considerations of the issue of mortality. (Report) Reply

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