Sunday, 9 June 2013



Trees that surround us whisper in the wind,

their leaves falling like secrets of nature.

The lake, murmurs under the surface,

setting, settling for winter.

Red leaves are smeared across our path

like evidence, a bloody crime, a hint of what’s to come.

Flowers dance in the autumn breeze,

like brightly coloured marbles

skipping around the world.

Soon the change comes, they roll away

as we pass skeletons of trees

and a stone statue lagoon, a gravestone of seasons

which once flowed and rippled at a touch.

We must whisper our last secret,

dance our last dance, leave our autumn world.

  © Caitriona Hansen

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