From the trees so tall,
the leaves fall,
and I see the season is upon us.
Fall, a time for celebration,
a time for decoration,
a time for stocking up for winter.
I see winter come,
as my fingers turn numb,
and I know that death is near.
We put away kites,
I feel frostbite,
and we begin to run out of food.
As we slowly starve,
we begin to carve,
our names into gravestones.
As we die, one by one,
I never see the sun,
and I know that I will be next.
SEASONS
Lucille Broussard