A gaze from the draped windows
was met by autumn itself.
Golden leaves,
detached from roots,
flying about aimlessly,
to a rhythm.
Then landing gently one the soft brown ground.
Amusing to those who feel,
especially her, at this juncture.
Where was she?
Maybe swaying about aimlessly,
perching upon hearts.
Leaving a mark.
YOU ARE READING
SYMPHONY OF WORDS
PoetryHighest rank #40 These words are a part of me, my emotions. They take root from my innermost intuitions. Every poem is different and conveys the tune of my heart. This is my first shot at writing and I hope you find it worth your time spent. Pleas...
