Beggar’s Fate

October… gusting,

a timeless trusting,

as leaves dry-crinkle,

leaving dead-rustlings.

The grass lamenting

lack of sprinkles as

its green seeps, weeping,

into retreat past

Winter’s deep freeze-reach.

Trust, anticipate,

Winter’s beseeching,

wretched Beggar’s Fate,

He slinks to meet Spring,

She scolds – He passes

Her, amber glowing,

“Forgive my trespasses?”

She nodded, most wise,

“Return in a year,

repeat your demise,

‘til then, have no fear.”

© CGT, 2017.

Talk to me.