As autumn weaves its spell and colours change,
long days of summer fade into the past
and spring's soft green is but a memory.
The leaves, so lately fallen from the trees,
shrivelled and brown, now lie upon the earth.
The morning chill brings hint of frosts to come
while pale sun weakly shines, and sets too soon.
As weeks go by and days grow shorter yet
winter moves on. Then slowly fails the light,
and soon enough will come the longest night.
I wrote this (or at least posted it to another site) in October 2014, and thought it had been lost, but it had been saved to a memory stick, and I've just found it again. I remember that when I first posted it I had no inkling that there was another meaning to it, and only recently, as I age more, do I understand what it was really about.