Autumn Prelude

Where Autumn Winds Carry Forgotten Melodies

Warm water-colored breadcrumbs,
All fallen on moist ground after waltzing their way down,
Contouring soulful melodies aided by raining drums.
Morning walks now guided by crackling fireplaces’ sounds.


All quiet and serene like still-life art.
The wind is softly whistling the name of gourds and foxes,
All for ears too closed to notice,
All for minds already sailing,
All for those who stopped their breathing


The dissonance of uneven gasps and huffs,
Colliding and breaking what’s left of Gretel’s making.
And now the trail of dancing leaves is hidden
From maps and weary healers.
The fountain of truth invisible on a road this brittle.


With the heaviest sorrow the crickets detuned their choirs,
With soft whimpers the wolves stopped their howling,
The frogs now mourning, muted their lyre,
The wind lost all semblance and started bawling


But somewhere, between hope and worry,
A big ripe pumpkin burst loudly, revealing a red fox inside it
The fox raised his paws triumphantly and said:


“grab your lyres,
tune your choir,
howl like there’s a forest fire,
Because even if no soul hears us,
Our song will still a root inspire”