Autumn

Fragments of the earth
twirling in the wind,

asking to dance;
dance with them as they tell stories

of times that only they remember.

The brightest star,
casting an orange glow

setting over this land
that we have claimed as ours

but is the work of a million tiny hands
sculpting this earth as we know it.

And the scent of the air
sweet, crisp, raw,

the same as 
every year.

I carry you home,
tuck you into bed,

and you say you've wished on a star,
the first one you saw.

I follow your little finger out the window,
into the inky black of what's above

and I too see your star,
and the moon caught in the branches of the oak.

Goodnight, 
I love you,

and all now are asleep in this little town.