Friends Of Autumn
Friends Of autumn are not for all, they bare upon those in pall. To be a tree or leaf, a question asked I can't believe. Shall I smirk by the edge, or voice along in their pledge. The wind has me swept, to a place where friends have wept. Hope I remember my friends long, wishing to write a song. Should I let them strike a pose, or how about a rhyming pose. So I will write about the best, not to forget the rest. I'll start with Mr. Stratch, notorious right from hatch. He is the artist of the master stroke, with a nose free to poke. I shall never know what he seeks?, in his depths or at peaks? Then there is Mr. Right, always stammered with fright. He has the prowess to duel all, but Oh! god, he is always the one to fall. Willing I'm to see ...