I Suppose it's Fall: A Poem
- Ryan C. Tittle
- Nov 15, 2024
- 1 min read
The leaves and acorns fall and leave a densely populated gram
on the cemented places that should still be nature places.
The weather is blustery, yet somehow
ineffective.
Frigidity is fighting the traces of Autumn like Jacob wrestling with the Angel
and wishes to suppress that blessed time where Summer is stilled
and Winter should wait its turn,
the bastard.
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