Papa autumn wears a cloak
of yellow, gold and red.
A gust of winter whispers
to rest his weary head.

He sheds his outer garment,
which scatters on the floor.
It's then he yields to slumber
and soon begins to snore.

His garb is spread in shambles
across the forest glade,
bejewelled with frosted crystals
where shafts of light cascade.

A chubby dormouse nestles
with nuts around his chest,
he's hiding snug and cosy
inside his woven nest.

This night was kissed
with white satin light

with gentle ease
the breeze
lifted my curtain
in the rhythm
of my heart

Sepia shadows
rippled on the roof
the hum of crickets
reverberated
through the air
this was a discovery
of unfailing peace

this munimented minute
I etched into my mind
as a memory pearl
and means to escape

in the cacophony
of a cyclone of time
as sadness falls
onto my face

Cracked glass
unmelted beneath
a blackened sky,
Where to begin
on such a day?

She died.

What to say,
about such a life?
Rose red petals
wilting out on the floor.

So promising, yet so forgotten.

Regret is a tempest,
tearing at the soul,
a path of self-loathing
and destruction left behind.

She loved him
like no other,
saw the good
through the bad.

Loved without a price.

I noticed that
even in death
lilies held beauty,
arched to one side,
white petals
glistened in the light

There were poems
in their drooping folds.
I reached into a void.
They cascaded
onto my fingers,
draping velum
across my hands.

Words seeped
into my skin
filling my veins,
they flooded my form.
A thousand sighs of awe
fell from my lips.