October Tempest…

Standard

When cider lorn
trees dance ebullient
and a cinnamon breeze brooms
epistles of wizened days,

once verdure naivete~
now burnished to maturity,
parched summer soil
rejoices in rain-chimes
of ditch water,

balmy embrace of morning
becomes tranquil cool
of a drenched afternoon,
yearning for quilt
despite its moth-ball stench.

sun once a cistern
of saccharine treacle,
pouring its warm sweetness,
on sun-baked earth
of bygone summer,

now plays peek-a-boo behind
flimsy celestial drapes,
while manna is sprinkled
on floral beds and singed grass
by unseen angels of bliss.

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