There`s something fresh in the air today;
Rustling slowly the yellowing boughs
And the turfs reluctant to suffron,
The air is still and smelling of ovation;
The children`s voices out in the sun
Mocking pleasure to eternal frivolity.
The season of Autumn has come;
Sending the chill through o`r bones
Promissing a wintry winter commence.
The sparking evocations of Summer;
The lofty white-butterflies beauty
Singing a mind to incantations very,
The warm light of the afar sky
Like a nurture of soul from ill-delivery.
The Autumn has its advantages;
The sight of the word to plunder Romance,
Like an exploitation of the ocean
The ruffled beauty marked to waist
Only latter the efficacy to implant sense.
There`s nothing fresh about Autumn;
Not in this say of past rhymes-
Not belittling the mellow evocations
Sung in poetic artistry of not my time.
The beauty that wears my eyes
Is man`s superimposition on Nature,
The Beauty streaming in sophistry
In gaudy approach and best perversity-
Is off revile and rebukation subject
Not fancy commend rhyme-wishing.
