CRUNCH

Crunch, beneath my feet,
Splinters ,
Red and gold and brown,
Rich colours sharp as glass,
Now crushed with jagged points
Daggers drawing blood.
“Give me the Spring” I pleaded,
“Just the Spring,
And then do what you will.”
I knew the score,
Although I tried to hide,
Denied the truth I knew inside.
There were no signs that I could see,
Nor pain to waken fear,
Until the day that red appeared,
The blood of autumn’s death.
I’d had my Spring,
My summer too,
Now autumn brought me winter’s death,
Red, fading into white, and blue.