Slate

As you rejoice in harvest green
though winter's sun has lost its sheen
splendid with a fading smile
charming sunsets all this while
and who eludes the twilight's sword
when night engulfs the shining lord
in what seems a lunar wilderness
of stars sprinkled in duress
the lonesome, prying eyes of trees
with distant rattle of their leaves
distracting, but you could ignore
as waves collide the bouldered shore
you may just count to ten and wait
a million times I'll clean the slate