Poem About Fall

The electric cable dormant with wire moving in the Autumn breeze, the wooden T cut top were giant scarecrows without the dark and dull uniform, the tree brown and plush, with chequered golden shades seemed to blush as all the birds land cautiously on the lady like arms.

The signs are the same, the fence around the two are equally quarantined, but look short compared to the height of each, one with man made roots and the other with bigger roots than mans hands, yet the spirit of the two have been in competition all summer, nature wins every year.

Some birds like the flexible wires, whilst others like to peck the trunk, all different types of birds. Migration affects the attitudes, through binoculars you can see them fly for miles and miles and if you adjust the lens enough you will clearly see different birds on different tree's, pecking and pouting.

The winds breath on the tree's leaves makes pretty patterns and the remaining sun warms the silver thread as if the current was still alive. The only actual life left on the crows branches are seen from each side of the crossroads, the fence around each of them is private, outside the open road.

One part corporation the other part heritage each a playground for men to play, for birds to play too. The incubated eggs created during the warm summer bunch discreetly on the ground, as diggers tread carefully on the road that conjoins the two towers of fresh wood.

The American tree made the pole, the American tree will be exported to replace the English tree, the traffic below move swiftly along as the birds will do at the end of fall. Who knows where they go, perhaps they go off on some graduation vacation, who knows, who cares?