A Short Poem Witten On A Windy Day In October Titled : Passing-Wind [Cognitive-Fart]

Just at the onset of winds,

Accompanied by the coming of this fall,

Change direction,

Have I found myself tangled,

Increasingly,

Amongst the turbulence of minds,

Which elude me,

As,

Do the matured,

 Leaves of the season flee,

From the soundness,

Offered to them,

By the stern, 

& the prevalent,

Nature of their gracious hosts

Where as the days,

And the bitter,

Chill of the the months to come,

Will inevitably syphon the warmth,

From all things,

Within It's breadth,

It would Appear, 

As if,

The cycle of foliage, within,

This Great North Eastern valley,

Bore a wisdom, Unbeknownst,

To the sturdy,

Masses of branch & bark,

Which sheltered them

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The narrowest puddles will soak,

Through soul & sock dampening the foundations,

On which trotted travelers tread upon,

Achey,

Heels & shallow,

Breaths held captive,

Within the unsettling,

grasp of each,

 breeze,

Presented to them,

As a frigid reminder of the lack of weariness having,

Un-Folded, within,

The first Quarter century of One's Expedition.