
Beneath the deserted skies
of a impenetrable indigo
Where the night hour abides awhile
and the brume roams free
The scant remaining leaves
of a perished yestertide
Cling to trembling boughs
As shadows insubstantial
by another dominion yielded
Wrap around the trees
And a thin mist skims the fallen foliage
carpeting the forest floor
An epitaph to a perishing yesteryear
While the murmurs of a fading midnight
echo tween the sylvan columns
Coated in the dew of an incipient dawn
issued by the gasps of a dying night
And borne on the wings of the nascent morn
~ d.a.simpson ~
Image: geralt on Pixabay