Beautiful dying,
Silent, Chill is crying.
Oranges, reds, yellow.
Fire above falls below.
Naked swaying whispering,
Spider’s fingers whistling.
When their white, bones rattled in breeze,
‘Fore at last, comes in the freeze.
Cold sprinkling down,
Cold blankets around.
Covers Chill so binding.
White and blinding
Sleep, Chill, it’s the end.
Darkness in the dead.
And now behold,
Autumn runs from Cold.

Heavy, deep,
Nearly endless sleep.
Cold’s solid slumber,
Renew the green wonder.
Poking up their heads,
From their icy beds.
Open colored eyes,
Extending luring lies.
Bees come in as,
Trees shake away Cold who has,
Retreated to his hiding place.
Now, Warm dances on new leaves with grace.
Breathing spirit and fresh life,
Banishing winter’s strife.

Fresh is never stale,
‘Cuz in comes Hot’s gale.
Humid, parching,
Hot is smothering.
Warm is withering,
Fire hearts a fluttering.
Sun toasts skin,
Cold’s fraternal twin.
Trees turn Oberon green,
But lack the Faire’s mean.
He melts a cool thought,
One of any you have brought.
Spring is dried of a tear,

He wakes at first dawn,
Exposed in the growing fawn.
But falling weaker every day,
Loosing strength in the morning gray.
Chill bites Hot’s back turned,
Leaves change, set to be burned.
She comes back around
*Time passes without a sound
The beauty of the life of men?
All will come, and die again.