clear blue skies
over
red turning leave
green-gold fronds
kissed by Autumn's
tender lips.
Patchy green fields
turning bronze
beneath Jack Frost's breath.
The smell of smoke
drifts on cool crisp winds.
I remember
apples turning red
leaves brittle
and raked into large piles.
I smell winter
a colder gust
brought by Northern Wind
reminds me of snow
soon to come.
I really like all of the sensory details. I think there are some capitalization errors, though.
ReplyDeleteNoa
I really like this poem. My especially like the part about Jack Frost and the first stanza. I would just edit this, I think you have a few errors. Sounds great! -Liz
ReplyDelete