Year's End

I sit alone now to survey the view,
the breeze and blush of autumn hue,
I find in the colour and the leaf
A flush of hope that brings me kind relief

and multitudes of scents that wind and spin
my mind to whirl, my nose aflame
with colours red and orange, viridian
my summer’s lease, all wood smoke spark, burning.

My breath sits hot upon the air
like mists that settle on the fields and dare
to sleep around the trees and near the rose
and rise and wend without purpose.
The crackle on the air, the crispin leaf
Brown brittle now torn down. An unseen thief
the wind blows cold upon my aging cheek
and winter waits pale shrouded sweet

I fail too like dying leaf free-falling to release

Felicity Fair Thompson

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