Autumn

Autumn: the willow tree weeps tears of gold.
Banners of scarlet and orange unfold
from maples, and banners of bronze from the oak.
Grey in the restless air, fog blends with smoke,
underfoot, brown leaves are claimed by the mold.

The sun has grown timid that once shone so bold,
blue skies are gone and the dark storm-clouds rolled
over the city, the storm-drains are choked...
autumn.

A story unfinished, a tale that’s untold,
a treasure I claimed but never could hold.
Another year’s passed since you and I spoke.
A heart is now mending that we two once broke
as summer was ending and yielding to cold
autumn.