DocAndersen
Beneath a blue October Sky.
The color around us changing
tas the red falls from the sky
to litter everywhere.
Covering everything
in pausing
tin ears hear the
sound of
a struggling locomotive
an engine
needing tuning
or perhaps just wheels
clinging tight too the tracks
clacking
as they crush
the red beneath.
I hear the sound
but it is nowhere to
be seen.
No trestle
no tracks
just the sound of quiet
as the leaves fall
and the Mighty Monon is no more.
Nice poem, a typical of what is happening around.
Thank you. It was written over the past week, but is more about something lost than today.