Autumn's Hint....

the leaves on the tree are whispering...
squirrels panic, and fireflies disappear.
birds prepare their wings for journey,
i sharpen the axe, the woodpile grows.
the fields mourn with stomachs filled.
the chimney moans with an ache.
brandy waits on the shelf in silence.
mason jars filled with beans.
the air pregnant with chill and woodsmoke,
this body ripe with the taste of love.
unmarked graves wait for headstones,
pumpkins wait for the knife.
eyes turn, waiting for the fall...
autumn's hint, rust on my lips!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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