Their Summer is now gone...liken to the
Forlorn mourning dove.

Driven onward by the sweet call of Autumn's
Everlasting golden love.

Leaves fading in a laden icy wind, some the
Color of amber wine.

That which is blessed by a liquid sky to be seen
By a starry pond.

The mighty trees swaying in a cooling breeze,
Colored a light golden bronze.

Yellow sunbeams tipping over the edge of
This far-reaching mesa.

The far lands hoping to moisten its darkened,
Cracked lips.

Peaks of gray shimmer in the light of a cold,
Dull over-cast day.

Here...upon the knoll, he only knows now
That chill of Winter's dawn.