Autumn
Phoebe. A
Crispy leaves fall as I walk
across the park.
Strong wind blows across my
face.
Empty trees along the path.
I feel frosty air on my hand.
I see different leaves
changing orange brown yellow.
I hear lonesome rushing
sounds.
I love the way autumn is made.
good poem brilliant, words. neve
ReplyDeletereally good poem phoebe
ReplyDeleteElle
thx elle
Delete