Miss Autumn, who brings the dawn with a cool breeze,
sheds the light on to my skin, and my horizon.
Miss Autumn, the one who comes before the deep freeze
which locks me away down in it's suppression.
Miss Autumn, when you go away, snow flakes fall.
the sun refuses to shine, I just sleep forever.
Miss Autumn, when you go I live in thrall.
You leave the door wide open, and I face the winter.
Miss Autumn, my days are rushing by, for they grow short,
not even the moonlight can shine my way back home.
Miss Autumn, what is a man suppose to do without your support.
guess I just rest my head on my pillow, and be with the loam.
Miss Autumn, I ask for what should I do to earn,
to earn your humble presence to undoubtedly return
YOU ARE READING
The Atrium
PoetryAs the river of life flows right through, collecting at the delta towards the Atrium of my soul
