As days succumb to darkness might,
According to the Wheel,
Dark wins the battle with the light,
Compelling it to kneel.

As waves of cold about the lands,
Their terrors gently spread,
Entwined like ghastly undead hands,
They drown the world in dread.

As fear grips the leaves of green,
That yellow quickly turn,
They herald th'advent of the Queen,
And praise Her swift return.

And Autumn strikes down all with haste,
Of those She does not need,
And emerald forests are replaced,
According to Her creed.

Yet some there are who catch Her eye,
In beauty and in form,
She's quick to jump when faithful cry,
To guard them from the storm.

Great bounty overtakes the plains,
For grapes are sweet and fine,
And all among the vine domains,
Float gentle tones of wine.

However, everything must pass,
But time matters alone,
Sigh thousands of green strings of grass,
As Autumn takes Her throne.

Leaves morph from green, to gold, to gray,
And always seem to fumble,
Yet loyal to the seasons stay,
And ever downwards tumble.


Penned by my hand on the 19th of Ferinus, in the year 497 AD.