Poetry

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We all know the Season its autumn now,the leaves are falling on
footpath's and roads;the winds can help them make a sound,dry day
to-day;they blow with ease when i walk, some huddle against a wall and
stick to-gether like sheltered thether;dryer leaves they fumble and
tumble,the whistleing wind makes them fall;no rain to make them damp
or wet,hence their dryness gives them a life as yet,some stay quite still
as though they had a right until the wind intensifies then they go where leaves cannot grow
 ot grow,gone from the tree's with no life of ease,the leaves we know won't
c come again until the trees say the word encore;then its Autumn once more
aagain,amen do tell,
jjoe.

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