Past week, on the night of Tiw an uneasy candle-flame wavered censored by hushed air kisses casting doubt upon an ode; scribing the blessed years of youth.
This pine scented disturbance no doubt - an Autumnal message; that rear weathered doors failed in the tempered change curiously bidding, further venture.
Patio' marbles were shrouded creeping with expired foliage leaves tainted old hickory near devoid of all famed ochre, merciless to breaths of the fall.
That sombre mulched pattering was alike wistful wondering; of delicate and shadowy footfalls from condemned, exiled seraphs strung by moonlight rays.
The flavescent master glistened, whilst duelling a clouded force; enclosing in vaporous march smearing pebble trailings, the skirmish roused nostalgia.
For eerie quivers - of familiarity wrought from the despondency, as if epitaphed notions of old were recited by alto whistling, each note rekindling a memoriam.
An exhale of soulful proportions sent adrift an essence; a smouldering encirclement of exhumed - solemnly recalls taken from seasonal chapters of yore.
Those hearted ashes of distant times cavorted - as sterling embers with a phantasmic replica of an adoration long gone, duetting on pockets of melancholy.
Then beauty settled into a sepulchre, caressed by grieving wreath petals saddened by silken veil, awaiting the fateful - dust and sand; the remnants of embodied divination.
Revived dolor swelled from within tiding from old, emotive cicatrices buried deep and then deeper until from this panoramic taunt does this churned anguish vein.
A corrosive, timely hiss from Carpo brushed the illusions past as once - to a maidens' mortality; a premature cremation of dreams lingering the bitterness of decay.
As the pining sky orb retreated so too - this observer with mourn stuttering farewells to the nameless then returned to the forgiving study to immerse again - in better times.
Tiw is old English reference to Tuesday, Carpo is a god of autumn