The Fall

Its autumn now,
falling all is dying
not bare yet but soon to be,
stripped of verdant life
their naked shame is seen.

Not long till all is dead,
while winter stalks autumns chill,
haunting autumn’s beauty
dark with devilish intent

What once was never more shall be
its time has passed
and is rotting in the ground
or trod upon its rustle sound.

And yet autumn’s dying cool
and winter’s deathly cold
each year make way,
with wild warmth,
for spring’s new life.