| Sunday, July 1, 2007 |
| WHEN THE SEASON'S OVER |
They say the leaves dance,
That they twirl and they prance,
That they whirl as they waltz,
A sight the viewer halts.
They speak of beauty,
As the leaves leave the tree,
Covering the harsh ground below,
In shades of red and golden yellow.
They talk of autumn,
With hope of what's to come,
Of endings and new beginnings,
In spring when the birds shall sing.
But they know not that when,
These few months are over then,
Winter and darkness shall fall,
And in misery shall cover all. |
posted by Clezevra @ 9:10 PM   |
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| 4 Comments: |
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Hi. Oh it was some jerk who started out objecting to my land of the free posting and then descended to all out abuse. Quite funny. I deleted his obscenity. Thats's why you can't make head or tail of it. Nice poem... Do you read much poetry? I like Wilfred Owen. His Dulce et Decorum Est made about the only poetic impression on me. Pretty powerful. See you around
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the rhymes are ektu forced. apart from that, nice.
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you need not have rhymed, poems dont have to rhyme! nice one.
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 - Name: Clezevra
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Hi. Oh it was some jerk who started out objecting to my land of the free posting and then descended to all out abuse. Quite funny. I deleted his obscenity. Thats's why you can't make head or tail of it. Nice poem... Do you read much poetry? I like Wilfred Owen. His Dulce et Decorum Est made about the only poetic impression on me. Pretty powerful. See you around