There is autumn in fiction
And another leaf has fallen.

In his own spring,
To a perpetual tree of fantasy
And magic realism, birth he had given, forgetting,
His voice will be dumb.

Hence, ages and ages,
The tree will emit fragrance,
And mankind will smell it.

It will be sweet melodies
For the souls in the modern world.

But there is autumn in fiction
And another leaf has fallen.