Indian Summer

A beautiful twilight to have a cigarette

An autumnal breeze winds through the trees, the leaves.

Too warm is the wind, some may suggest…its orchestral cacophony swirling melodic,

a gentle rain, a cricket chirps

Oh! do the trees speak…to me…At this moment I exist

At this moment I embrace

At this moment I want to die, but a peaceful death,

as the clouds, the swaying breeze offers me up,

A sacrifice to what I already know:

Beauty