The corn stalks' tops are turning yellow,
Somewhat late, because of rain.
Night falls harder, sooner now,
And that aforesaid rain brings with it
Air which seems too cool for summer.
Fall is coming. Morning fog obscures
The valley. Mourning becomes my
Main mood. The year, a life
In microcosm, has much longer
To go on, but, like mine, it has reached
The point where all its finest days
Are done.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2018-08-29 at 12:34

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Coo & Co The PoetBay support member heart!
This is excellent, Larry :>)

The trees around the Coo & Co offices are early to turn this year, perhaps because our summer was so dry. We appreciate 'morning' and 'mourning', as every day moves towards the season of chills. 'Season of chills and bitter with'riness,' Coo suggests, making up words again ;>)

I was riding along the ruts left by your Autumnal poem. It leaves me with a reflective, sombre mood, almost resigned to the fear of Winter's fingers suffocating the trees and hiding behind the mists. However, I'm also safe in knowing, that better seasons follow.