Dying angels in autumn leaves,
dance dark pirouettes.
The smell of earthy musk loiters,
like the ghost of breath.
Crippled in a stark naked crowd
my twisted oak is bared.
Summer, fickle summer has left.
I shall sulk for its warmth,
but first face the wicked winter.
dance dark pirouettes.
The smell of earthy musk loiters,
like the ghost of breath.
Crippled in a stark naked crowd
my twisted oak is bared.
Summer, fickle summer has left.
I shall sulk for its warmth,
but first face the wicked winter.