The woods shed leaves,
zephyr commenced blowing
and the snake ruled out its venture.
She gazed on the meagre tree,
on the meadow, sipping mead,
with her mind blank,
guessing that the fall season made trees to shed
and animals to deactivate,
for her;
her scribble on the book made it ghastly,
compressed with her woe and wow,
jinxes on her life and destiny,
commenced with her joy,
concluded with her misery,
the first recto filled with her greed for life,
the last verso filled with her despair on life.
she penned her last note,
with hands trembling and tears dripping,
with love…