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.
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