Young autumn

I await thee at the ending of Summer, my beautiful Lady of Dusk, thy leery orange shivers, spiced with the blossoms of musk. Under oaks and birches I will lie, questioning my desires, I’ll watch the leaves fall flying by, through horizons colored red like fire. Gray clouds cast shades on our faces, I am cleansed by the pouring rain, that falls with hope to cover the traces of our loneliness and our pain. And such wisdom you bring to us Lady, of things that die to be born, your winds etch melancholy on our windows as we dance to the tunes of amber horns. The Sun now warms at your behest, the roses, withered, dried in heat, all bow their heads and not protest to be the palace for thy feet. We crack in melodies obscure, Softly skies embrace September king, in twilights and on grounds too beautiful to reap As the nightingale laments, but sings. We are lulled by the fiery sunsets, Mesmerized by shades of your hair. I await for you Lady Autumn, now that Summer doth broke away.