R.S.
As golden tresses feather through
And gently with the wind they swerve,
They kiss the earth as they bid adieu,
To the boughs that held their joy and verve.
The mist that’s hung low since morn,
Rises and to the boughs it clings,
Like clouds’ head resting all forlorn,
On hilltops where the birds rest wings.
Why sombrely the eyes perceive,
An auburn scene that autumn drew?
A beauty does the nature weave,
As golden tresses feather through.
Author: R.S. is a denizen of India who writes Poetry to find harmony in life. She graduated with Honours in English and loves to read and write poetry. She rises early to feel inspired with the morning star and create new rhymes. IG Handle: @thepoetrywindmill
Artist: Irene Liao is a visual art student from Taiwan who aims to present figurative human art through her watercolour pieces.
Editors: Brock Scholte and Fernanda Bustos Venegas