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Untitled

Birds of red and blue,

Called up from way on high,

 A song of confidence,

 Sung from the Summer's sky.


And down below, the grass,

Waved gentle from her breath,

 A bed to rest one's lazy head,

To sleep within her rays.


When Summer packs her brush,

And leaves without a trace,

Autumn comes to take her place,

To begin her masterpeice

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Comments

  • DeathOfAnArchAngel
    October 15

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    I really like this your words set a picture in this writing. It really sets a place for this to take place and really gives this a different feel for this I do not see many poems that set a sence I see it more in stories so very nicely done.