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Dead of Fall

In gathering storm clouds, Fall whispers its dread, 
Cold tendrils coil, as life's colors shed. 
Once vibrant hues, now wilt and fade, 
As darkness creeps in, a cold, silent grave.

The trees shudder from a galloping wail, 
As the shadows of death ride upon the gale.
Leaves descending, mourner’s tears in the night, 
Darkening skies, blocking out the celestial light

Each gust a lament, from the realm of the dead, 
A chilling embrace, where all life is bled. 
Once verdant forests, now barren and sere, 
As Fall's fatal touch, draws ever so near.

A piercing ravens caw, echoes a haunting dirge, 
As Fall’s icy fingers begin to surge. 
Nature's canvas, once painted with vivid grace, 
Now marred by blight, in this dark, desolate place.

In the stillness of dusk, befalls a silent pall, 
Softly, death claims its toll, in the dead of fall.
Where once was life, now only rot and decay, 
As Fall descends, in its cold, cruel way.

But even in the bleakest of hours, a promise we find, 
A seed of hope, a whisper, a sign. 
Like a phoenix from the ashes, rising up, a seedling tall, 
A symbol of Spring's renewal, in the dead of Fall.

-Edward

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