pale white
legs like spiders
twine through the yellow grass
writing small red scratches, poems of
harvest
these times
when I would give
so much for just a few
more seconds of blazing autumn
sunlight
instead,
I let the night
come; celestial trees
shed their star-studded leaves across
the sky
and autumn remains
Author notes
Playing with cinquain chains. They aren't perfect, but sometimes I like mine to read as more of a sentence, rather than making each line stand alone.
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