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Literature Text
November crept into my bones;
The year moving into its old age
As the trees burned,
Their dancing-flame-leaves scattering into the winds,
The promises of thick frost and darkened skies at dawn
Dusk once more falling far to early.
The veiled moon pale and grown fat,
Clouds obscuring the stars to wish on.
The year moving into its old age
As the trees burned,
Their dancing-flame-leaves scattering into the winds,
The promises of thick frost and darkened skies at dawn
Dusk once more falling far to early.
The veiled moon pale and grown fat,
Clouds obscuring the stars to wish on.
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All images and literature/written work in =rockgem's gallery are © Gemma Hart. All rights reserved. Reproduction and/or retransmission of all or any part of this gallery are prohibited under copyright law. Users desiring to reproduce or retransmit all or any part of this gallery must first secure in writing the appropriate copyright and other authorization from the copyright owner. My work is not public domain.
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Comments6
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I love autumn poems--they are always either very bright or very dark, like an autumn day.