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10/25/2009
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mistress fall
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i can smell it in the air i can taste it all the spices of the winds you can't retrace it see the colors spread in reds and golds yellow tints and browns, and folds within a banquet of mesmerize a fall of mystication but none of fall so falling but the chill within the air as i stand beside the strangers calling out to mistress fair her rounded pale cheeks and her runic rustic hair her voice is smooth as cider and her touch as soft as flair she is beautiful by far than the Lisa, Mona smile and the tinkling of her step upon the ground calls the hounds to beg, beg, beg and the tinkling on the ground will call the hounds yes my dearest dearest she is fall herself her small indignant fingers waver in a quaver in a runic sort of fashion and her breath the chill of winters trumpet dangling at her beckon call she will last forever she is never ever better if you strive to hear her calling you will never see her falling though her name quite a deceit upon the tame though she is fall she will never though she is fall she will never ever 
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