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A slight breeze

ruffling the already tattered garlands

Its scent, pure and enchanting

As I lie down, my head, upon the pillow of rot

The decay of sunny days, alive and marching unto death

unto death

There is something warm, endearing so,

as the colors wildly flame-out in time

Like a candle’s dying wish - manifest through wisps of smoke

“There is something warm,

endearing so, as the colors wildly flame-out.”

Intoxicating harvest… changing tides...

as mother lays bare, her own

I lie down, my head, adorned in laurels

a harsh breeze