Fall
Stale beers, never old, The brazen bitterness, never enough, The warmth of two sets of pearls against freezing cheeks, The slight torture in stepping down a large flight, The dusty sunlight, and the smell of cinnamon tea, The torn spine of that bulk of a book, The crossing of same face every morning, The time, Of lonesomeness, and then again, Warming up to a soul, The tinted nature against the dry coolness, And all you see is, The brightening and paling of patinas, When is it, will you understand, How colourful a death can seem? Until next time. .........., Ak