Slate November morning
It is quarter to nine
At the windowsill
Try to ventilate mind.
Miasma overcast sky
Hoar frosted ground.
Early winter breeze
Summon trees around.
Chilly cold orders to
Shed its yellow brown.
Fearful, helpless leaves
Tremble frostbitten.
Dangle precarious
Hope to withstand.
Steady though trees
Obey decrees.
Sway vigorous left to right.
Late autumn, soggy, groggy fallen.
Wet cars parked verbose deserted.
Ashen damp grey, melancholia stays.
I really liked your title,Very stylish as your poem.
And the ways u ended too is Kool.
Nice paint-fragments of imageries and emotions.
Good work.