To burnished bronze from burning gold
Fast falling leaves, which leave me cold
Some are lost when Summer’s spurned
The rest, seek rest when Autumn’s turned
Bare boughs exposed, I cannot bear
Their loss, which leaves me naked where,
My roots, in earth of Mother Earth,
Stay comatose until rebirth.
melancholy of Mother Nature and falling
leaves and your words...penetrate it all...well...
Ron
Regis
When you fly, you soar!
Perfect for the season.