Left, then right
Down they plummet
Circles they make
To the ground from their summit.
Swirling and twirling
Autumn leaves flutter
In a cyclone unseen
They disperse then they clutter.
Stripping and baring
Their verdant attire
Trees in the winter
Look like pronged spires.
I found this while I was rifling through my old poems in a jam session with Max Lytus. I actually wrote this as part of my autobiography for an elective on autobiographies sometime midway through highschool, submitting this as the last of fifteen journal entries. This poem had a different ending and absolutely no explanation that came with it, so I’ve resigned to making the end flow better and leaving it at that. Contrary to most of my other poems so far listed, this one is not even remotely symbolic of anything that actually happened in my life, unless you choose to read into it deeper than I wrote into it.
