Breath of Change
Chill Autumn sings its siren songs,
that cruelly steal away my breath,
to hover where it bare belongs,
in misty shrouds of summer’s death.
The winds of change feel bitter cold,
as seasons once again have turned.
The days grow short; I’m growing old
with yet another lesson learned.
Along new winding paths I walk,
where trees are shedding crimson tears,
in empathy for empty talk,
the changing seasons, wasted years.
Most flowers mourn the dying sun,
pass prostrate under earthen beds,
except for few perennials,
who bravely hold up hopeful heads.
As Autumn wails her mournful tune,
while summer love becomes the past,
I’ll keep a hopeful eye on June
to gain my breath again… at last.