for dVerse
In the crisp apple air
while the oak leaves still are green
free Summer lingers
though the sweater chill begins
And the leaves reflect gold
though Autumn’s fire
has yet to come
And the sidewalks are not buried
in the rustle, crunch of leaves.
We know the things to come don't we, love the apple air.
ReplyDeleteAutumn's fire ... such beauty!
ReplyDeleteI love that sweater chill - it's already started over here!
ReplyDeleteA sure taste of what is to come. Very lovely.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful! Love the "crisp apple air"
ReplyDeleteLove that sweater chill and rustle, crunch. That is fall, to perfection.
ReplyDeleteA Best thing i Love
ReplyDeleteabout poEtry IS A
depth of memories
iT inSpires of EmoTioNs..
no matter past or future
or current words..
A metaphor
ticket here to
a September
Dance.. a faLL
love leaves for me..
and a sweater then..
that strangely enough
smelled like love as cigaretTe
old stale stogies from a Cuban
Mother and her flower of a young
Woman
who would
eventually
break my heart
for decades..
sweaters
of smoke
love
gonE down
and up aGain..:)
Splendid write ❤
ReplyDeleteBeautifully crafted.
ReplyDeleteI taste the "crisp apple air" and feel the "sweater chill" in your poem :)
ReplyDeleteSome lovely word combinations...oh how I love "crisp apple air".
ReplyDelete