Autumn arrives in early morning,
but spring at the
close of a winter day.
I saw old autumn in the misty morn
stand shadowless like silence,
listening to silence.
It was one of those
perfect autumn days which occur
more frequently in memory than in life.
Every leaf speaks bliss to me,
fluttering from the autumn tree.
Autumn is a second spring
when every leaf is a flower.
Autumn wins you best by its
mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.
Change is a measure of time and,
in the autumn, time seems speeded up.
What was is not and
never again will be;
what is is change.
The foliage has been losing
its freshness through the month of August,
and here and there a yellow leaf
shows itself like the first gray hair
amidst the locks of a beauty who
has seen one season too many.
Fun Lover 2008
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