I am autumn, some days winter

Never am I summer.

I am cashmere against pale throats

The deep grey of the pacific.

I am the dusty rose of dawn

The bitter wind of day

The sweet silence of night; yet most

I am the eerie moments between dark and light.

Some days I wish to be the warmth of august

Instead of diamond rays of ice.

But what beauty is in glowing suns

Compared to velvet vespers.