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The Sombre Send-Off

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It`s coming the pale breath of Autumn;
The swaying boughs will know their fate,
The verdure turf compulsory in suffron
Soon in time be and the Youth shall rise.
Slowly in subdued fury the blaze fades;
And the toiling beams now like ointment,
The merry fruit to devour now shrinks and withers
Consigning to the raw season in flight.
Piteous be decrepitude Age breath;
Wincing in bewilderment and doom,
The feeble muscles to shudder in cold
And the blithe to follow heightening the gloom.
   The dethroned element wincing
    In resigned thought sinking.

Comments (2)

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you are cool

rosy
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Thanks for the support I highly appreciate it.

melusi
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