Saturday, September 19, 2015


Dropping…   drifting…

  sailing…     lifting

Seceding from the sleeping limb,
across the roads and pathways skim...
exiled from the copse once dense,
brief refuge found on rusted fence.
Upon the lawn to scourge the rake,
bright colors paint the pond and lake.
Stripped of season’s finery,
stark and barren stands the tree.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

1 comment:

  1. Ha. It is not quite time to rake here but a few of the leaves are starting to change. It got up to 94 here at midafternoon. So hot. I think we might actually get to autumn in a month or so.


Thank you for reading my poetry and sharing your thoughts.