Anna@YWP

It seems a bit strange, in retrospect, how we have one day to celebrate the passing of a year; as if that day could encompass all of the things you have done in those 12 months; as though you are really any older than you would be with t

Amber leaves cling
To umber trees reaching
Frayed roots deep into the ground.
They've told you time
And time again, "autumn is the season
Of the dead.
Green leaves rusting, flowers
Dusting over till the pink

Time is a funny thing,

as long as the wind sings,

it’ll quicken, shortening the song.

When the wind silences, it’ll slow-

and the silence is stretched out far too long-

but Time doesn’t mind, as it dances,