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Trees etched against the mist
chilled breezes bump the leaves
in yawning dawning light
a phosphorescent glow
from which odd things could creep
Close to the howling eve
all Saints do celebrate
a morning touched with faint
stirrings of feebly things
that haunting Autumn brings
No matter that it's day
the solemn rites are due
Bide well your time my friend
night's dream will come for you
This is an old poem that I thought would fit well at this time of year...
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I was sitting at work that day, looking out the window and that's exactly the thought that jumped into my mind on seeing the trees on a foggy early morning that October. Thank you for seeing my imagery.
