|
In Touching ReachIn touching reach the leaves of the tree, Cold gripping them in the darkness, I see. Them fluttering in the breeze… Tossed from side to side! Grey green in diffused lamp light, Glaring out into the dark night, Touching the edges of each leaf, Glistening off droplets from the rain before! Leaves hanging so forlornly, Almost touching the floor! Summer has ended… Crisp now the leaves with autumn's turn, They twist and fold. Wilting painfully slow! As each new dawn brings cooler winds, In which the leaves do burn. The tree seems to be aglow, Touched as she is by moonlight beams, And lit from below by lantern which seems! To cast an eerie green glow! I could lift up my hand… So close they seem… They are almost in touching reach! Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem |
|
| |||||||||||||||||||
|