Autumn spins
A drowsy noon
The deep, dense forest
Becomes a mother’s lap.
The breeze begins
To softly croon
To the trees at rest
Before they nap.
The streaming sunrays
Draws squares and circles
On the moss
And the scattered leaves.
A birdcall delays
The frisky squirrels
Darting across
Like a pair of thieves.
In hushed whispers
The flowers tell tales
To the visiting
Bees and butterflies.
A snake slowly stirs
And a frog turns pale
With a sudden spring
A swallow flies.
Soft grasses warmed
By the morning’s sun
Spread soft mats
Beside the stream
The hours embalmed
Have now begun
To find retreat
In siesta’s dreams.
nadirafromkannur 