Walking in Autumn
Leaves like beaten bronze fall from the tree,
A squirrel scurries across my path
Gathering provisions against the coming cold.
The half-drunk coffee is warm in my hand,
The rain cool on my cheek.
I barely notice.
I am turning you over in my mind
But there is nothing now I can do to save you
And the autumnal sky turns dark.
Copyright © 2011 by Nicholas Palmer