Summer slowly dies, Autumn comes alive,
tints of brownish gold, striking hues of red.
Heavy sighs, salty tears, behind lidded eyes,
a solemn song rustles through the leaves.
Your body decayed, before I said goodbye,
one week in September, brings me grief.
I long for an Autumn, when you were alive,
not like a faded leaf, blowing in the breeze.
© Debra McLain
Excerpt from the book “Silhouettes Of My Soul”
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Photo Credit: © Scott Barrow/Corbis