Tangerine leaves of trees, sister sun seeps through you.

Gravelled bend, to home or lost do you send?

Path’s stones wear both soles and souls, yet on lapstones will one mend.

For the other, will a dram of rays sate the thirst for darkness to end?

Urban scenes ostensibly legit, bucolic ones tend to remain, years regardless, the modish fit.

If mens sans is found during this perambulation, how can such state be kept forever lit?

Accepting the sell around the ell for it’s bell ensures every road is worth a hit.

May mind in body find a peace with which to reflect an amber aura of warmth too. : )