Pam Eszpnal

October Rust

I tremble in agony as I walk on Autumn’s leaves.
I touch the sound of it crumbling on the ground.
October, being its very own, passes by me without being known.
As I stand near the edge, I’m thinking of rolling down these hills.
I listen to the leaves break off branches and watch the dawn rain of seeds.
Orange, brown, red, and gold filling in the silence.
Trees rusting leaves off of its broken down walls.
The wind whispers to me of October’s Rust.
So it must be November, because this poe

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