The Falling

The wind came in a hurry,

b

lew the trees' knickers off.

All golden brown, almost burnt,

fell back to the earth

like a door off its hinges.

The breeze continues to tingle.

If only it hugged like warm cloth,

the same way it slapped like snowflakes,

cutting the skin like blades.

Sunshine diminishes to the size of pancakes,

but hey, the world awaits.