Oaks cluster round'
to escape Fall's frigid breath,
that turns and churns
the withered dead.
Atop the gnarled trees
fire, in their fingers
burn.
Rusted reds
golden yellows
all seem to entwine
as lovers idly dodle past
and enjoy a glass of wine.
Author notes
What do you think?
Comments
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Creates images in my mind. I love "entwine" rhymed with "wine"! Very tasty. Great job!
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thanks for the comment.
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Beutiful!!
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luverly imagery
awesome write I like it
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