I'm a poet, not an author.

[harlicat]

So the book thing didn't really work out. But this did..

A warm wind that showers 
us in autumn 
from crackling leaf to rustling tree, 
it's over in a breath, 
all is still; 
but for those 
who bravely strode on, 
on and on through the seasons, 
a circle 
that never ends 
on life's wheel 
that never stops.

But I will.

I will be a dying leaf 
carried on only 
by the generousity of a warm April wind, 
my beauty 
you shall not know, 
my joy 
you could never understand. 
All else considered: I crumble.