I've never cared for autumn's glare,
that putrid season which lies between, light and dark.
Torments me with it's insufferable indecision!

I wake, and find myself lost in this season of mists,
was it so long ago that we slep in the sun kissed valleys?
I shield my eyes against it's sickly green sun,
which lacks summers vigor, and is empty of winters peace.
It makes me remember,
of the promise of spring, sworn not so long ago,
now broken,
by these trecherous skies!

Should I pray?
Beg for clouds of grey, and fields of white,
to release me from this purgatory; clear the
storms of mustard yellows and rust reds that burn my vision?

Come wintertide! and with your strong, north wind
clear the air of the stench of decay.
Numb me with your icy lips,
end this mockery of maytimes memory!

For what is Fall?
A harvest of dead leaves and fallen trees,
that toppled our golden king from his throne.
So tired of this excercise of death,
forced to walk that extra mile on blistered feet,
the daughter of heaven and earth,
shedding tears in the autumn rain.

Oh let her sleep, release her from this
the season of traitors!

A lament for the warmth,
a herald of the cold.
The flowers die, and the birds run,
they'll dance no more in the summer sun.