Sofia Fariole
Leaves sway in senescence
Falling, small tracing crescents
Not a sign of florescence
For the flowers are gone
The birds grieve for Mother Nature
As they do every year
Mourning the passing of time
Flying far from here
The tender, dampened soil
Will soon become stiff
In a state of turmoil
Battling with inevitable snow
We laze inside
Sipping warm apple cider
Gorging ourselves full
On Thanksgiving dinner
A cracked window
Invites a crisp wind
My lungs fill with petrichor
The world quiets once again
