Golden Leaves Swaying

Golden leaves swaying
On a November breeze
Floating, cascading down
Landing on soon to be
Frozen, winter ground.

Woods are silent, hushed, listening
To the still quiet as a hunter lurks
Waiting to kill in the midst
Of golden leaves falling, raining down
Upon barren, dying ground.
~ Patrice

© Patrice Clarkson – 2014