Poem by Taylore Huxford | Picture by Lucas Bennett

Brown leaves crunch under the charcoal soles of their boots
While nearby flowers whiplash with the wind.
In a place so serene, there should be pleasure--
Auburn eyes cast upon the pastel blue sky,
White spots littering the canvas.
They are reminded of a very important lesson
That a woman with curtains made of brown silk
Taught them in the creaky,
Run-down basement of the log cabin they once
Went to during the scorching summers:
Life is something you hold on to
even if the thread is slips past your slim fingers.