The trees were talking in foreign tongues,
The leaves had plenty to say,
As he stood deep in the golden grove
Watching the treetops sway.
A gentle breeze had caught at their breath
To carry their whispered tales,
From tree to tree in the woodland depth
While the Autumn winds prevailed.
And golden leaves lay thick at their feet
A magic carpet of death,
Sunday, June 14, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: nature