Autumn Thread

autumn leaves 

lyric poetry

The lonesome golden-brown leaf
Drifts swiftly from the tree,
One of many fallen down,
From the branch where it once was free

The leaf is sad, tired, and alone,
Its aches and pains slowly decay,
To the bottom of the ground
Where the tree trunk lies in gray

Sometimes it wonders what could be
If the seasons didn't change,
If it didn’t hurt so much
To fall to the ocean of leaves so strange

Once it reaches the end, it sees
There are hundreds, thousands, like it,
Lost in a sea of sunset orange and dark red,
The little leaf finds where it fits

fall in love

sonnet

the leaves crunch beneath our feet
on our slow walk to school
your presence is a treat,
like a summer day in a pretty pool

you walk me to class each autumn morning,
I wonder if you know I can’t help but fall,
fast and hard, without any warning
lying awake at night, thoughts a tangled sprawl.

Cozy by the fire, you hold me close and warm,

I could listen to your voice for hours on end.

Lost deeply in this autumn storm,

we find new magic where our hearts transcend.

Our love embroidered in spiced ember and crimson red
each moment with you is one I dread to see the end

pumpkin spice

sonnet

Pumpkin spice and all things sweetly said,
You once would whisper softly in the night.
I wished I’d known those words would soon be dead,
A fleeting comfort, fading from my sight.

I suffered through the pain of autumn’s chill,
Longing for your presence, near and true.
While seasons turned and time moved with its will,
Your silence grew, a void I once knew.

At night I lay, and dream of you near,
Yet shadows bring to mind those darker days.
When harshness choked the love that once was clear,
And left me lost in cold and hollow ways.

Each memory now drifts like autumn's breeze,
And we, once bound, remain as distant leaves.

pumpkin pickings

free verse

an orange glimpse into the life

of a short and plump little squash

she knows she won’t be picked

But even so, she tries to reach out

She sits in quiet sorrow,
her stem stretching long and pointed,
a testament to hope amidst the sea
of pumpkins, each seeking their fate.

Among the others, she struggles
to distinguish herself,
but despite her earnest efforts,
her demeanor remains wistful.

She dreams of the day a little girl
will wander through the patch,
selecting her from the array of choices,
to take her where she truly belongs.

Until then, she lingers in the field,
a solitary figure amid the hay,
awaiting the moment she’ll be picked,
and find her place in the embrace of home