I whisper my innermost desires
to ochre leaves flittering, to the gloomy character
of fall’s advent blowing with
each steaming breath
is unhurried and
Seasons are prefigured with
ancient mystery and beautiful wisdom released
in the yawn of orchid blooms and
stark gunmetal branches
that stand testament.
Winter’s wraith dances on high, biding time,
stirring clouds with its gray finger.
© Michael Joseph Donnelly, All rights reserved.