Orange Leaves
I still dream of long, beaten pathways
With orange leaves on sand and stone;
The smell of the rain, and its soft kiss upon me;
The chill of winter creeping into my bones.
And there's still time for long, quiet wanderings,
And hopes climbing high, like the clouds from my cup.
The withered, white light of these soft, dewy mornings--
The fog closing in that opens me up.
I still dream of long, beaten pathways
With orange leaves on sand and stone;
The smell of the rain, and its soft kiss upon me;
The chill of winter creeping into my bones.
You are the leaves, spilled paint on concrete.
I am my bones; I cannot escape.
I travel this path in continuous autumn,
But winter is here now and taking its shape.
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Submitted on May 02, 2011
Modified on March 27, 2023
- 39 sec read
- 7 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABCDefefABCDghih |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 690 |
Words | 132 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 16 |
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"Orange Leaves" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 26 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/81194/orange-leaves>.
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