They tell me she's charm’ng,
That autumn, as I do not see her infernal secrets,
Her lullaby, her hands and the long slumber that’s disarming,
As winter’s blanket will slowly cover and makes us equal,

My spirit once had love but this day now, at th’s  tired struggle,
the love of my life gave her fatal stroke,
goodbye, welcome, crime, horror and winter’s tussle ,
my love, passion and hope for the flowers, soon to die, broke.

is not you, autumn with sun so clear and so white
yes, in me you see the twilight of such a day
Those so very white summer’s flowers soon dying of blight
I hate passion and the spite of it makes me hurt with’n your latest ray

Like the seasons, as they are yearly new and old,
So is my love still telling me what has been told.

I stand in that hot ring alone and bitt’r,
Waiting for my fate with no fear or doubt,
The soft ground grips my feet as I speed hither,
Searching for a path and avoid this bout.

Crowds run fast to escape my pounding feet,
Falling, jumping climbing to avoid sharp horns,
Fear filled eyes, pound’ng hearts in beat,
Red and white are in his sight like ugly thorns.

The bull unaware of what has transpir’d,
The matador sword ready, it’s stance firm and lithe
Look’ng for that soft shoulder spot so desir’d,
That bright red cape provocative, as it writhe.

Down strikes the searing steel to enter it’s flesh,
Ending the bulls rage, and love, that hidden mesh.

As time moves on and the brave day seeks his hideous nightly bed,
I behold those faded flowers well past their prime,
Mature trees now leafless, denuded and bare are wilting,
As summer’s green is all but gone,
Stolen by autumn’s greedy hand.

But now that autumn is borne away, by that white chilly one,
Among the wastes of time, this years autumn is gone awry,
Like a woman’s portrait painted by nature’s hand,
Hue of hues, unknown by anyone,
Now winter is here, stealing that women’s soul,

Whereupon it looks and I am,
Worried about April’s first born flowers.
Sun’s glorious eye look’d on at winter’s horrid crime,
the plunder of women’s summer soul’s,
Once, that winter was a fair sweet youth.

Gone are those days, as winter’s is showing no remorse
As souls lost, seldom or never found again,
Winter’s crime, like broken glass no cement can redress
Flowers withered, covered by winters snowy shame

Love, as roses are alluring, her rose-briars will hurt,
the wild rose blossom’s in this early spring,
its briars protecting her from her sure fall.

a delicate flower to send forth its profound scent,
in that sunny green vale, I lay,
thinking of love, as birds caroled joyfully.

while there, I took my heart to me,
wondering about all those bright things to be,
when winter’s time is here, all will vanish.

then my visions will be in vain,
but as earth echo’s ends,
and winter’s naked tomb is there.

love will cease like a night’s dreams, floating away,
leaving me with that rose scent, and my creation true.
and thinking of the briar’s hurt.