Autumn stoops,
Picking memories to gather before winter,
All the hues of the world, translated through stem
And petals resignated voice.
When I write, I write something new
As if watching birds will help me fly,
As if each fallen leaf, summered and spoken
Becomes, a petal after winters turn.
I write and rewrite as flowers drop
Their petticoats, picking heartbeats
Coloured with the shades of sunset.
Now, they mark a new memory.
Is uncertainty the same as not knowing?
(c) A Hannan
Submission for Third Sunday Blog Carnival Volume 1, No. 3 http://thirdsundaybc.com/
Sultry Soliloquy 
