As the long summer draws to a close,
the tired sun lies low in the sky
adorning the clouds with hues of orange and rose.
Autumn brings with it a gentle mist; breathed out like a sigh.
A cold sheet floating over the hills.
Wisps weave silvery white between dense treetops,
stretching out toward the spills
of light that gild the leaves. The illuminated copse
flourishing deep green, through fiery red to a yellow crown.
With a swift breeze leaves become scales
alive, swimming and gleaming in the glow. But soon all will be brown,
when that biting frost of winter finally prevails,
cascading the land in an ice that does bleach and burn
your colours but not the memory I will treasure until your return.