SOME MAZY FALLS OF THE ORANGE LEAF BLADES ON A POET'S CLAVICLE
Wearing the diadem of white and yellow begonias the city swerves across the autumn's wreath ; and I, an austere cloister, standing near a porch holding a crystal goblet, daydreaming for the bloom of a verse.
The courteous autumn ignores the sophists of raindrops but still carries the lustre of keen oblivion ; the virgin clouds of welkin, wave their white furs and I, a waggish banquet, waits for the excitable fall.
Whoopee ! 'tis a poet, who waits for a starry night to infest his sonnets with portraiture of falls ; and I, a keen antichamber, where the metaphors wait to mount on the heavenward arbour of that unblended sonneteer.
~The poet's orange quill cuts a rug when the autumn chuckles near the suburb of similes.
4:36 pm I made a sandcastle near the womb of the azure sea with the youthful sands, infested colours and aloft hopes. Some yellow beams were embedding my heavenward castle but the flow tides were struggling to abut the drawbridge and to dismantle the portcullis before ebbing away. But they did fail terribly and I laughed hard while looking at those hopeless tides.
5:01 pm Those beams of sunset were turning into orange like the feathers of a Baltimore Oriole. And then I found some sea crabs near the bailey of my castle. Some were golden and some were little red like the husk of some raspberries. They entered into the castle without opening the sliding gate. I became little upset but my guests were too cute and poetic to be ignored like those menaces and gordian chaos of reality. They appeared.. they disappeared ...they appeared.... And then they disappeared again before my not-so-excitable hospitality. But those flow tides were still struggling to kiss my castle.
5:58 pm Those rays turned red without hurrying and I was becoming high on the metaphors to scribble about the overgrown sun and those fragments of sunset which were scattering on a corner of the sea and the seawater was no more looking blue. The water was looking red as someone threw the vermilion bottle of my mother on the stillness of water. Then I saw a golden crab near my castle. I chuckled and enjoyed the scenario with my swerved eyes and tipsy soul. Suddenly a flow tide came and tore down the battlements of the castle. I was standing near the paradox to scribble about that castle, sea crabs and sunset while personifying the arrow loops of a sandcastle.