• The ocean's in the sky now,
    and all the birds are drowning
    Ol' mountains sing a crisp song
    while those dead aves chirp along.

    Like always.

    I taste autumn like menthol,
    even my bones shiver now.
    My steps announced, leaves become
    trumpeteers in this season.

    Fields suffocated, wither,
    and cotton clings to asphalt:
    begging wind to let it stay,
    though each year it is this way.

    North wind announced, flagpoles are
    marching drums in this season.
    I'd give my legs to see this
    stately season persevere

    all year, all year.

    © Keegan Gilmore, 2007