I’m grateful for harvest yet weary of politics and COVID 19…
i’m falling out of love
with fall, that’s all…
a seasonal thing that
marks end of our fling
gorgeous colors nearly past
victims of wind’s chilly blast
old trees embarrassed to undress and
wheelbarrow shows oxidized distress
smoke from fire numbs my nose
garden hose lies stiffly froze
harvest moon wanes from full glow
day turns gray and threatens snow
my gloved fingers feel a tingle
much too soon for sleigh bells jingle
gathered crops leave dry fields bare
dusty roads don’t give a care
rejected pumpkin left to rot…
seems fall, after all, loves me not.
a poem in my pocket 
Jan 03, 2021 @ 17:44:25
Oxidized distress. Love that pairing of words!
Jan 05, 2021 @ 08:37:40
thanks for your comment 🙂
Oct 19, 2020 @ 14:18:49
What a nice though somewhat sad poem. Most of the trees still have their leaves in a dull green here in central Texas. I do miss the fall beauty of the Ozarks.
Oct 19, 2020 @ 14:51:29
I appreciate you reading and commenting, Janice!