Sequins
Sequins on an old dress,
The last of autumn leaves,
Danced on
The ends of the branches.
The Green Doesn’t Crowd Us
The green doesn’t crowd us.
But when it turns golden
And twists and falls like a thousand swirling dervishes
In the autumn wind
It gives way to a view of the white and brilliant mountain
Through gnarled limbs
Vacant and seemingly hopeless limbs
Dormant until the green pushes back out
To embrace us in its verdant prison.
© M.R.Hyde 2021
See artwork by M.R. Hyde on Redbubble.
