Autumn (In Reply To Archibald Macleish)

Like the end of life that comes with old age,
Autumn stripped
turns most of the trees into skeletons,
in cold nipped
days are windswept, the sun without its glare,
we are gripped
by the first spells of winter that is coming,
as if death is already in homing.

[Reference: Immortal Autumn by Archibald MacLeish.]

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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