My dear, Autumn has come.
Ere the golden complexion of his chime,
there stood Summer o'er its wilted blossoms
under aureaute skies of thine.
Gleaming under thy crisp light, thy ripe face does shine.
The gilded tears thou spills,
o'er the dying hedges and hills,
dried Youth's river of dying smiles.
Oh! The lives of a wilting daffodils seemed so dear,
yet the overhanging flowers gushed no tears,
for their petals were gilded their sorrow in joy,
singing verses of Life they love and enjoy
until Death loomed o'er their golden buds,
his scythe was ripe with their crimson bloods,
for reflected within Autumn's yellowing eyes,
there laid December's snowy skies.
Whilst Autumn whimpered its last breath,
There blossomed white daffodils of Death.
YOU ARE READING
ꨄ 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑ꨄ
PoetryLife and Death; Joy and Sorrow. They're just two wings to the same body.
