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Recipe from Last Autumn

2 parts sunlight
1 part organic fuji apple
1 windowpane to filter it
5 parts scent of cinnamon with gingerbread combined
1 pumpkin, hollowed out and opened with rough-cut shapes,
the inside slightly scorched by candle-flame
to this, add a bit of foreshadowing
following in the footprints of raindrops tiptoeing to snow
beyond the sum of parts,
glowing-ember-path to the season of slumber
strewn with brown leaves, crisp and dry
garnish joyfully with a ritual for death

Author notes

(what to do with pumpkins...)

Does this capture the season? How could it do so more?

    I plan to revise this poem: please leave constructive criticism!
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