My Birth Season


The autumn leaves shield the ground for what is coming;
Crinkling as the wind blows them off the pavement.
The trail of conveyance is too confined;
I rather trudge through the chill,
Then catch the breath of another.
The sky is dark with mist and fog.
My hands are numb. My skin a berry blue.
My thoughts dry up as does my lips.
I long for time to pass,
Though, the season has only emerged.
A season I despise but yet adore,
For the season of my birth does not deserve loathing.
Its beauty seems to captivate the human eyes.
I wish to feel the appeal.
A bare tree does not deter the charm of blooming flowers.
A season full of life. Warm and amiable.
When grass is natural green and leaves swish upon their branches.
To have entered the world at such a season would be grand,
Though, life itself has left me grateful.
Seasons change as well as age.
One day a year to acknowledge.
White flakes will soon fall from above
Ready or not, they come
To celebrate with me.

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