the leaves on the tree are whispering... <br />squirrels panic, and fireflies disappear. <br />birds prepare their wings for journey, <br />i sharpen the axe, the woodpile grows. <br />the fields mourn with stomachs filled. <br />the chimney moans with an ache. <br />brandy waits on the shelf in silence. <br />mason jars filled with beans. <br />the air pregnant with chill and woodsmoke, <br />this body ripe with the taste of love. <br />unmarked graves wait for headstones, <br />pumpkins wait for the knife. <br />eyes turn, waiting for the fall... <br />autumn's hint, rust on my lips!<br /><br />Eric Cockrell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/autumn-s-hint/
