Humans are a funny bunch to please,
They believe in what they see with too much ease,
Yet the firey-orange my children adopt,
Every Autumn cannot fool them,
Every year they'll reach the ground,
Every year I'll hear the sound,
Of a ressonating crunch whisper through the winds.
We try and ressemble fires,
while those we try and please already emulate it.
1 comment:
This is such a brilliant poem! Absolutely fantastic!
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