Poems ✍️

October survives behind its vim,
Of amber and umbers flailing limbs,
Novembers wind ghosts hide and loom
In Mother Natures scruple less womb
Exacting harsh rage from her throne-
Of autumntide...her seasonal home.

Her sunset pours like Cabernet,
Septembers Indian haze, far away,
While o'er the harvests gathering field's,
Soft Autumn mist, hosts harvest meals.
Mother Nature dictates with grin and tease,
Playing on Octobers variable scheme.

Damp ocher leaves dangling from branch-
Till Winter comes to silence their Dance.




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Frank James Ryan, Jr / FjR