Cool Autumn days With my mother beside me Watching the leaves change Then drift gently, silently And held cupped in our hands Each a hot steamy mug Of crisp apple cider.
There's just something about her That some say is also about me That brings to mind warm amber, A hint of relaxing spices both light hearted And grounding, sunlight but earthy. Like cider she comforts me in chilly times But I know that all too soon She'll be gone, leaving only traces of cinnamon, Apple, and a glimpse of the sun in her wake.
Cool Autumn days
ReplyDeleteWith my mother beside me
Watching the leaves change
Then drift gently, silently
And held cupped in our hands
Each a hot steamy mug
Of crisp apple cider.
There's just something about her
ReplyDeleteThat some say is also about me
That brings to mind warm amber,
A hint of relaxing spices both light hearted
And grounding, sunlight but earthy.
Like cider she comforts me in chilly times
But I know that all too soon
She'll be gone, leaving only traces of cinnamon,
Apple, and a glimpse of the sun in her wake.
September Cider
ReplyDeleteBring in a mug of
too hot to sip
too hot to grip with
end of summer
fingers.
It's not cold enough yet
to clutch and shudder,
to laugh at steam and
breaths let loose bit
by bit from warm bodies
into the frozen out-there.
No, August still lingers,
creeps in at 3 in the afternoon
and hides in the warm September sun.
The warm cider at night
makes it
go.