The Earth No Longer Nests Within Summer's Clammy Palms,
But Is Suspended Upon Autumn's Chilled Fingers,
Soon To Fall Into The Chasm Where Winter Bides It's Time;
The Dwelling Place Of All Things Which Lie Dormant

The Lawn Remains Long And Untamed,
For The Carcasses Of Summer Leaves Litter The Ground,
The Summer Sparrows Have Flown Down South,
And The Pigment Of My Skin Has Faded With The Sun

The Breeze No Longer Harbors An Exquisite Song,
Only The Husk Of A Hymn Which Was Once Sung,
The Summer Leaves No Longer Whispered In The Trees,
For They Lie Speechless Upon The Frosted Forest Floor