Cornflakes

 

In autumn, as the leaves on the trees turn yellow, orange, brown,

They fall the way snowflakes do, dancing in the breeze.

They crunch underfoot, freshly toasted,

Or like cornflakes in a bowl,

Sharp, crisp and golden.

 

But when it rains, they turn moist,

And soggy,

As though the milk has gone in,

But left to sit for too long,

The crunch, gone.

 

Just a wet, sloppy mess,

Scattered across the pavement,

On a wet November day.

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