sunshine warm as trickling blood
and colors wrapped in rainy mist
whisper must into dark layers
of dried promise and future bliss
collected to rot,
the tulip bulbs,
sad orbs misshapen
like old, dulled eyes
dwelling dusty and dark
in the basement, their ark,
their coffin sealed tight
with concrete carelessness
Hear the little fires pop
And sizzle on pale autumn skin?
Marshmallow roasts and hay rides
Bump down sweatered arms
As scary stories begin
To wind-whisper shivers into sweat
And bring breath to a boil.
As scarecrow hands and feet
Recoil- then reach for the breeze
Far from patched overalls,
The thick uncomfortable layers,
That fickle fashion of fall.