the summer is winding down
the winding path towards autumn
she is falling into those strong arms
once again
so soon to disappear
so soon to bury her face
in the colours of dying leaves
she always leaves
what feels like always
too soon
too soon
and autumn ascends
but inevitably weakens
into winter
whose withering rule
will last but for a while
until the hard ground cracks
and spring’s harbinger
breaks forth like a tear
from up out of deep darkness
