Sometimes I think I am psychotic <br />and possibly I am. <br />The ground is breathing, <br />skies are shimmering <br />with love for the sun. <br />There is nothing that is plain, <br />that is alive. <br />The sea is being swooned <br />by it's lover: the moon; <br />Tumbling over it self <br />and dancing with the ships, <br />though the sailors don't appreciate. <br />I wonder if they see what I see. <br />They never mention <br />how the colors of the leaves <br />make them feel <br />in this new autumn. <br />They don't excite when it rains; <br />dripping droplets down glass <br />as I always do. <br />I'm tired and I want to lay on grass <br />without dew soaking through my clothes. <br />The smell of dying leaves <br />make me feel alive; <br />as real as the second I first saw his eyes; <br />My first love, and my second, <br />the Earth during autumn.<br /><br />B.B. Loring<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/autumn-equinox/
