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The Autumn Victorian

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Moss-walls, garden-harvest, golden-sun turns afternoon-orange thru the patio-vines hangin'

And in the coolness of air, parlor-games played in the old Victorian.

And the Autumn Victorian walks thru the leaves on the street.

The wind sends the leaves into dancing.

Along this Voctorian street,

Swirl-winds serene, it's Autumn breathing.

Bolt-white shards and ghosts of lightening,

never a dull moment 'cause it never ends.

Love was fine when she was alive, 

but love has now turned into graveyard dreams.

La boda negra, the black wedding.

Comments (3)

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I love the imagery in the poem. The reader can feel this autumn day. Nice!

JannelleC
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Written from the heart of a passionate writer. The figurative language and imagery enrich this poem. Please contribute more.

Jannie
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Thanks, Jannie!

luciddreamer1973
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