The Children Of Autumn

Rain whispers softly, like waves on a sandy shore,

Bringing the song of the ocean to mountain heights,

Dancing naked in the tears of heaven,

That hide me from the gaze of stars in the night,

 

Puddles gather in the street to witness autumn,

In rapture at my feet like I am a prophet of spring,

Awaiting the sunshine of poetic revolution,

The moment when my soggy pages sing,

 

Instead I gently hum, a lullaby of solace,

Rocking them to sleep in winter’s arms,

I am not the messiah to fend off the cold,

With tales of sunshine and pleasant yarns,

 

Within the covers of my notebook I tuck them in,

Where they fuss like a child not ready to rest,

I stroke them with fingers gone numb from the cold,

Nursing their hurts like a babe at my breast.

 

 

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