The Aspiring Bard

Taste of Autumn, Tangy-sweet, Crunchy-crisp. Russet cover Blends the leaves. White peeps through- Winter coming... Seasons change In apple time.

I wonder if I Can see the Sky, Or only worries Blustering By?

Behind the bars Of ancient rust I string the beads Of praise, And let them fall, Like pearls of hope, To light the creeping days. Behind the bars I sit and watch My wretchedness Decay, As spirit sheds The grasping flesh And carries me away.