Autumn
The heat of summer bleeds
from the trees.
Golden sunrises.
Orange afternoons.
Fiery sunsets.
Summer writes itself
on the trees,
Then tumbles onto the grass,
Tossed by the wind,
Claimed by the long, long winter.
James Aitchison
Advertisements
Absolutely beautiful and evocative, James. Thank you.
Thanks for the message. Very rewarding for a poet.
love your poem, James!
Thanks, Di. So glad you liked it.
James, i love the metaphor of summer/leaves then changing colour and falling. Haven’t seen it put quite like this before! Lovely!
Thanks, Virginia. Always nice for a poet to receive messages like yours.
Lovely observations and insights. I’ll never think of summer changing to winter the same way again.