Equinox...AutumnalA seasons bones tower,
tall sentinels hovering o'er
graveyards of spent produce,
leftovers to a forager,
skilled reaper of the Earth's
stores.
A morning's Autumn dew
lights tents of wee clowns
weaving and weaving...
what is it they secret away,
is it the knowing,
the pending doom
of a species locked in a time warp
of crystal towers
and frigid airs.
Small creatures weave
a secret we know not.
Survival...
What if man's efforts fail
and we must weave
to exist,
weaving and weaving...
is it the knowing,
the pending doom
of a species locked in a time warp...
to survive is
the secret,
a secret
we know not...
yet.
