Poem · January 1, 2014
Autumn
The steep grade of the thruwaystretched down and awayas a path for the god –Whose white hair reached upto mix with the wildly streaming regal cloudsthroughout the blue sky;While he reached off to his rightwith his cloak touching down along the earthlike a pumpkin field – dotted in orange beadssewn everywhere along the fabric –and pulled by his side.