SL Poetry: Fall

Fall is a slow but beautiful death

The end of the bounty,

of growth.

With a last hurrah the trees triumphantly display all their colors;

flowers struggle to hang on to the last vestiges of sun and warmth,

but they too will wither and die.

Trees shed their leaves and stand barren in their wake.

We harvest and reap the product of the summer's hard labor

we reap what we sow...

Insects begin their desperate struggle to live,

creeping into homes, buzzing about frantically.

The sun wanes more and more each passing day

and its warmth diminishes.

School starts, traffic snarls;

With dreary resolution we dive back into the very humdrum aspects

of life.

Summer is gone...we prepare for the dead of winter.

Shellie Sands