Poem: Autumn Leaves Are Never Gold
Autumn leaves are never gold,
Or red or yellow or orange,
They’re just a sort of brown,
Decaying on the ground.
Ripped from trees too soon,
By autumn winds,
That are never crisp and clear,
They’re cold and cruel and bite.
And smell like smoke,
And rain and rotting leaves,
Not pumpkins and cinnamon,
Or seasonal lattes.
Autumn is when the mornings,
Are dark and cold,
And the street-lamps are still on,
When you leave for work.
Autumn is a time,
Of wellies and broken umbrellas,
And raincoats, and hats, and gloves, and scarves,
To protect against the wind.
Autumn is a sense,
Of something ending,
And something else beginning.
But nothing is ever,
Gold.
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2 Comments – Postiwch sylw
b00kw0rm99
Rhoddwyd sylw 30 mis yn ôl - 7th November 2013 - 17:45pm
I love this poem :) Autumn is my favourite season because 1. it has my birthday in it and also, I just love the rain and the leaves under my feet, the thicker coats wrapped around you and the fingers wrapped tightly around a mug of hot chocolate. I just love it. I may do a poem about it....hmmmmm. It won't be the same as yours though, don't worry!
Amzypamzy
Rhoddwyd sylw 30 mis yn ôl - 15th November 2013 - 09:26am
Awesome poem! I really like Autumn, I love the colours of the leaves. The only problem is it gets so cold!