A Walk

Walking with a limp

Cool of September welcomed,

My thoughts are elsewhere.

Twenty-seven, yet complaints:

Journeyed through many autumns.

 

Unsure as to if

I need complete solitude,

Or lost in a crowd.

Such vacillation of late

In the constant autumn rain.

 

A leaf in the wind,

Once fixed firm on mighty oak,

Is tossed on a whim.

Does it resist, or am I

Resigned? We neither yet know.