ChildhoodÕs End

by Steven M. Hewitt

I donÕt stop and listen
to the summer wind anymore
or feel the approach of autumn
as it comes waltzing through the door
like a carefree woman in a swirling skirt,
fall leaves dancing around her feet in the dirt,
long hair a-tangle with morning mists,
white skin glistening, newly dew kissed,
and I, lost in a reality of my own invention
sit alone and ponder issues I care not to mention



Visions