Thursday, October 4, 2012

Pumpkin Spice



It is fall, yet again
And the flittering of leaves indicate that pumpkins round the corner and apples are being plucked
The ashen red outside my cold windowpanes still manages to amaze me
The tint of buildings and pavements  
And sometimes the fog of rainy evenings seems to adopt this seasonal hue

It is the changing of the seasons
The normative routine
The spices and ciders
The bats and the spiders all claiming their much awaited return

But I sit with no transfigured inertia
My feelings un-transmuted, per say
Clenching my sheets as I am used to doing during cold mornings
Drinking black coffee to fit my unchanging patterns

The trees offer this dignified gentility
Such flaunting of nobility almost seems feigned
Moribund leaves succumbing with admirable poise
After years of this trend one would think I would tire of such sights 

But it still manages to amaze me
Such elegance I could never display
Withering away with such refined modesty    

No. When I go, I really go
My fall not akin to fine dances

No comments:

Post a Comment