As Summer into Autumn slips

And yet we sooner say

"The Summer" than "the Autumn," lest

We turn the sun away,

And almost count it an Affront

The presence to concede

Of one however lovely, not

The one that we have loved --

So we evade the charge of Years

On one attempting shy

The Circumvention of the Shaft

Of Life's Declivity.

The name -- of it -- is "Autumn" --

The hue -- of it -- is Blood --

An Artery -- upon the Hill --

A Vein -- along the Road --

Great Globules -- in the Alleys --

And Oh, the Shower of Stain --

When Winds -- upset the Basin --

And spill the Scarlet Rain --

It sprinkles Bonnets -- far below --

It gathers ruddy Pools --

Then -- eddies like a Rose -- away --

Upon Vermilion Wheels --

Where do we go from here?

Blood coloured are dawns

Gloom takes over before dusk

People ask,

Drenched in fear

Where do we go from here?

In the rain

I've spread my arms

Wide and open

I'm letting in the rain

I've closed my eyes

My face is towards the skies

The winds carry strange

Dreamless dreams to me

Detached leaves of the tree,

Scattered all around.

Depict the real me,

Crawling on the ground.

This Autumn and I,

Are closely entangled,

I don't know, why

But it makes me startled.

Blown by the wind,

To a place so far.

Impotent and helpless,

How similar we are.

I fall, I fumble,

Motionless and my plight,

Like a branch that crumbles,

Shattering from a height.

But Autumn is followed,

By a slinking Spring.

Many favours it owes.

Many joys, it brings.

The clouds of despair,

Are washed with hope.

Perishing the fear,

Spreading its rope.

It's love, running in my veins

See, it's crimson and sparkling

Calling you with all the lovely names

It's autumn, all the colours are mellow

Ah! I heard, a whispering fellow!

Moving silently with the wind

I've touched a rose in my hair

Love and elation,

No cry, no despair.

I feel you smiling inside,

The shining face, I need to hide.

With the swinging of the bough,

Silently began, a shower of leaves

I giggled and thought, 'What is Autumn?'

The answer came, 'When every leaf is a flower.'

Now when he would be out in streets,

The laughter sure would start

And the fingers will hideously point,

At the very core of his heart!

They believe him to be dead,

As he has never raised a cry

He neither scolds nor hushes them up

As if his lips have gone all dry

But in fact he does not care,

For their chuckles and the noise

Why would their ranting bother him?

When he can hear his inner voice!

I peer through the depths of the pale moon

It cries its thoughts out to me

It relates the dismay enshrouding it

The squealing melody of its withering life

It fears the future it will dwell in

Its concerns dripping out

These are bad, bad times

My end is near...

The leaf fell

Got crushed under the feet

And slightly wiggled.

It cried and cried

But finally spoke

"Ah? Winter is here..."