Pumpkin in Flames

I can still feel you, so carry the sun away 

I'll take a glass of autumn tea if you'll throw out the lemonade. 

Smear the grey into those clouds 

Hoping its southern wind will come, 

Let the rain pour from mouth 

Wiping heat from summer's frown. 

Ghosts are at sea in a landscape oil 

Waving in the photo frame. 

I refuse to look away, 

From the forms that shift their shape.

Tiny spiders patter 

In their eight-legged wicked game 

Into the trees that they have woven 

Catching the colours of today. 

 

Twisting & tugging--reaching for street

Withering dreams, on old branches, cling 

Rutabagaen faces catching wisps

Seasonal grinning through autumn's whistling.

It's Haunting Season–something to believe in.

Remember how it used to be, in the day's nostalgic memory? 

Waiting 'til the sun fades, wondering before sleep: "What will remain?" 

A pumpkin in flames.

Wasting away. 

Melting today, to welcome the gray. 

Orange turns to red, then brown--and then, dead.

A birch-yellow wish by October's tea sit.