Autumn Song
As the days grow colder, And the leaves begin to wane, The birds take flight from the harvest fields, In pursuit of warmth; but I remain, To watch the golden embers Of a fading sun, Illuminating the rusting boughs That slowly curve unto the ground.
O autumn, mistress of the winds, Your delicate fingers Gently comb my face, As you whisper melancholic melodies In the rustling grass, Lamenting the fleeting life That dances in circles, Echoing the days gone by.
Yet I find beauty in this change, In this gentle decay, That teaches the heart To embrace the transient, And find joy in the letting go.
- D H Lawrence