The wind,
Prankster of October leaves
Swirling under a magician’s wand.
Taking from branches and limbs
That once reached out in the summer sun
Full of dreams, and enclosing our days
When love was young.
Limbs picked by chilling breezes
Throwing yellow and orange to the ground.
The vanity of love scratching the streets,
Moving around, at times lingering,
At times dying in the wetness of the gutter.
The wind,
Prankster of October leaves
Bending egos that rise above
Greeting the sun with flutter.
Vibrant veins that once gave flesh to sky
Now fall in gusts of folly,
Autumn tears of summer’s lies.
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Categories: Life, Observations, Poetry
elbrookman 
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