there’s nothing like a crisp
morning wrapped up in a sweater
that your nan knitted for you, crackles
of thunder blow out the candlelight
but you’re searching
for a loved one in the dark, mind the leaves
they can be slippery this time of year, leaves
brush the path like a crisp
flake of snow searching
for a place to start, an old sweater
that smells of simpler times and candlelight
hangs in front of me, the crackle
of my grandfather’s fireplace reminds me of the crackling
sound he made when he tried to push those words out, but leaves
never leaf you alone, they’re highlighted in candlelight
swept out onto a blue crisp
sea, don’t forget your sweater
you whispered to me, i wonder if you’re searching
the skies for a sign of me tonight, searching
space for a glimpse, maybe there’s a crackle
and you think this could be it, then you see the sweater
you once knitted, and the leaves
moving in time to the wind
and it’s so cold now, crisp
cold, and then the candlelight
dies out, how can lost ones find their way without candlelight
how can they continue searching
for their missing pieces, a crisp
breeze and a few crackles
and they’ll be back among the leaves
that line the autumn path, if it were as easy as knitting a sweater
we would all be knitting sweaters
everyday, but once candlelight
has gone, it can be hard to find the leaves
to make it glow once again, you can search
the planet but you’ll never replace that crackle
you heard on a morning so crisp
when you left, all i had were the leaves from your garden and a sweater
which was fine for those crisp days, but when the candlelight
was gone, i was left searching for the crackle of the fire alone
meloncurls 