Autumnal Grace

Written by: William Ward

The autumnal grace that bodes so well 
For eager souls departs,
Upon a dove wore Gaelic prose
Devised by naïve hearts,

For afterthoughts as echoed dew
Sate the doleful needs,
Of naïve souls whose hearts dispose
Of decadence and greed,

For autumnal grace a phrase misplaced
In modern times bestowed,
With meaning laced with fervent haste
That once defined our souls.