it was as verbose
as I would ever hope it to be on
any fall morn memorizing carefully
pieces that would later be written
into something which would
echo the lines
as I ease
through
the breeze
along the leaves that

orange lay coruscating around ponds cyan chill
and onward to hear the icy tones of what's to come as
breezes crisp the naked cheeks and reckless winds are
slowing bones autumn's inspiration trickles as surely
as seasons sleep me I just drift on the quaint
precipice of days begin where I
read you

but then other times the
tarn has left rippled reminisce of all
the bittersweet reflections which indeed
can & oft times are nothing more than
sniveling heartaches what I really
ought to ask is why it is I
come to find such
reflecting
revolt
that
are
after
all mine

but after taking a gander
that day into those ghostly eyes of a
muse I knew who'd been stealthily filed
rippling through the pristine pure well
that was down right dirty pool
and there I had to
leave
a
tear

nevertheless
I come ever still
hoping to see
her