In early August
Leaves on the ground
Are blown around.
Autumn must
Come in with September.
I remember
Barefoot girls in summertime
And lust
Only half understood.
In woods
Autumn leaves become dust.
My blood
Still runs hot.
And the graveyard plot
Calls us all.
This really gets you thinking. Very well-constructed.
Thank you, Esther. I’m so pleased you like my poem