Leaves swish, like water
As I walk through
Them to reach the park. ‘Tis true
Autumn is still here,
Yet, I fear that winter will give no quarter,
For each season does murder it’s daughter,
Who dies not but rather sleeps
Forth to softly kill
Her father who will
Rise once more.
As it was before
So it will remain. The perpetual cycle
Of the seasons, a vital order does bring.
Follows winter stern.
Come summer, flowers will bloom.
Autumn imperceptibly doth replace
Summer’s flushed face,
While the Fall’s slow decay
Whispers “winter is on his way”.