There lingers upon this day, a tender and gentle dying,
Within soft voices of bees, last farewell in their sighing,
Sad adieu of feathered friends, off and away go flying,
Roses upon their stems, even they have given up trying.
Boughs releasing gold leaves, from weary autumnal trees,
Sepia petals, so creased and aged, drift upon silvery breeze,
Icy lips, kiss with abandon, cold green rivers and shivery seas,
Thick white fur replaces grey, so old wolves no longer freeze.
There´s a gentle dying upon the air, kind, compassionate, soft,
Whispering winds lift hats on high, before they may be doffed,
Everything swirls and softly sways and into distant futures waft,
And autumn´s gentle dying, now carries summer´s cadaver aloft.