Acorns pelt the ground,
littering the lawn.
She calls them small prophets,
warning of the cold to come,
though I suspect the trees
only speak of the past.
Tag: autumn
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Gettysburg in Early December
Curtains drawn wide, a scene unfolds,
Through a portal of rain-glazed glass.
Near-barren oak and ash
Stand in silent vigil.
A few brave leaves resist
Within their bastion of boughs.Glowing in their autumnal gold,
Steadfast against the wind’s howling siege,
They hold their arboreal high ground
With fierce resolve,
Channeling Chamberlain’s desperate defense
Of the far left Federal flank.Awaiting the final order, tense and poised,
For a noble, resolute descent,
A countercharge from their lofty perch,
Down the slopes,
In a gallant sweep,
To the embracing arms of the earth below.
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Red Oak
Leaves, once emerald, now ablaze in a fiery red,
Vibrant under the caress of morning light.
Proudly, it flaunts to the world,
The secret of its name,
Concealed across seasons, only to
Burst forth onto nature’s grand stage,
As our hemisphere gently tilts from the sun’s embrace.
The Truth About Tigers 