THE FALL

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Fall. Fall. Late falls the Fall.

The rosy apple drops and
Everywhere they polka dot the floor.
Touched by the earth,
Brown rot eats to their core and
Sliming slug creates it's metaphor.

Shaken, the sturdy sinews
Supplicate the sky
To cease its rustling.
Solid, the torso trunk stands firm
Against the wind's mad anarchy.

Fluttering leaves give up the ghost
In arterial shades of crimson,
Create a fading carpet to be consumed,
By gentle nature's
Courteous accounting.

Weaving its pre-historic way
The Slow Worm sucks the juice and eats the flesh
Of the mythological nectar fruit
Ignorant of the knowledge
That condemns all nature.

Before the spring arrives
Must fall the Fall,
Like autumn leaves we pass,
And go to seed to recreate
Another orchard and another time.