Autumn Night Stroll

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem about life, and the end.

Submitted: December 20, 2007

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Submitted: December 20, 2007



I walk
This rough dirt path
Between dead trees
Balancing my steps
On the grooves of wagons long past
Listening to the sweet music
Of the forest
Wind whispering through the air
Telling unheard stories
From long ago
The moon lighting the life of night
Bushes rustle
Full of nocturnal activity
I walk through the autumn evening
Eyes watching me
From their shadowed alcoves
Like silent silhouettes
Watching my exposed breath
In the cold of the dark
My mind finally free
In this perfect night
I watch the moon
As she provides me my warmth
These dead trees hanging low
This is my forest
My night
My perfect autumn stroll
I see the steeple
Rising high above the abandoned church
I pass the broken gate
Of the silent graveyard
Housing the souls of those long forgotten
I just walk
Down this path
But my journey
Is coming to an end
As I reach the last tree
The end of my forest
The end of my night
The end of my perfect autumn stroll.

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