Like A Hundred Violins

it is cold and the ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ are dying
becoming withered memories
leaves are drifting and ¦¦¦¦ is falling
and the river flows like a stream of glass
the ¦¦¦¦¦ is fading
and birds are flying ¦¦¦¦
and the forest is taking on a sombre hue
and storms ¦¦¦¦¦ the ocean of my sleep
where my hair is soft as a spider web
and my filmy dress a paling ¦¦¦¦¦
and I stand ¦¦¦¦¦ in this decay as a tree
with ¦¦¦ arms outstretched to the sky
oh, the fine thread of summer is ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ thought
yet, there is a ¦¦¦¦ beauty all around me
and within the crumbling ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ leaves soar
oh, the splendor of the ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ burnt orange
and red leaves ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
like weeping blood red raindrops
oh, listen to the ¦¦¦¦¦ chiming
of falling leaves
that I will hold ¦¦¦¦ a blanket of memory
while the wind utters ¦¦¦ wails like a hundred violins
and ¦¦¦¦¦¦ birds sing
a ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ symphony just for me