Autumn, Lit.Op.3

Oh summer sun’s dusk, the last of its kind! Now season to tame the bloom that was wild, Dyed leaves in the air and their rushing sound, Go dance in the wind like flares in the ground, This time it’s his time to wither and die, This Tree that stood straight front my window by, Those summers and springs while all looked up high, It hinders my sight- see Venus in sky, But now it’s his time to wither and die, This tree that stood straight front my window by, Now I am among that can cherish her, Gone in my perspective- all the Tree’s blur, I saw her meet the leafy winds of fall, And through the cold her grace and beauty crawl, This winter and fall we all looked up high, At last so I see, I see her in sky! But this spring had sprung along with its bloom, The tokens of past are the guilt and gloom, Rise in its remains front my window by, Hence there I had gazed my loss as I cry, “In the humid air as drenched earth below, Down to his shade where there I was spared so, And back the days where my peace was at stake, The anger I shared- these all for my sake,” For those where his deeds whom I had seen least, They all were unveiled as now he’s deceased, So here I see forth- winter! Oh its grief! Dyed are in the air; last sun’s gloomy leaf, Shame! Fool, I was fooled. Sweet lies in her hands, Thus so I’m to look his corpse where this stands… Front my window by. Radiates those good nights, I send my rejects to all her invites! -oOo-