Sweet scents of
hot cinnamon cider,
pumpkin patches,/
red and/
yellow lifeless
colors cascading
over my head../
Whilst my windy
atmospheric desert palm,
reaches for the last
crisp green ration.../
It glides down to the
ground.../
Whirling round,/
and round./
As if to say.../
"Dead am I to say,
goodbye!"/
As it lays to rest/
beside the summer/
corpse of a nearby firefly.