So clear the undulating
waves of the Kline-blue Sky.
Crisp autumn chills with
crackling wind and chimes
singing softly Chopin’s ballad
as each dry leaf gracefully takes fall:
to the base
the ground which spurts tulips that soar
gently back into that autumn chime
and blush in its presence
of rich browns & still time:
Time that not like an industry ticks
where autumns cool is protected by heaters
and summers are dimmed
by ceilings with halogen lights
and the common is conditioned to none other sights.
So for until seasons keep changing
Chopin’s ballad rises from within,
Frost bites will be my braces
and scars of the soul
will surface my skin.