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This is a poem
Deep green turns to orange, yellow and red
Brown leaves blow in the air swirling in a miniature
cyclone before setteling on the ground. Some leave
gather into clusters, culmped together and wet from the
puddles on the ground. There will be snow on the ground
soon. I feel it in the air. In my fingers and cheeks
there is the burn of the cold and
my nose and ears are numb.
© Copyright 2008 Thomas Hopkins (ripplefix at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1393511-Weather