foretold of how, when, and why.
we would know,
when Fall turns summer around.
A season, which masguerades as an ageless song
spreading its tentacles
of life
before
dying,
blooms into a
a chill lurking between clouds,
allowing darkness to creep too early
skirting over
sunlit skies.
A soft gentle breeze
gathers strength beneath the shadows of lingering leaves.
Gray overhangs, pauses,
tumbles brittle golden orange to the ground,
lets leaves laying in wait,
to be blown by the last breath
of the summer wind.
And so goes,
the cycle of life.
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