Autumn

"Autumn"

​

Autumn descends a quiet hymn in the air.  
Who will ask the secrets of the leaves,  
Half bathed in dew, half-withered in their fade?  
Do they long to fall?  
To be crushed beneath wandering feet?  
Or to drift nameless on the winds,  
Vanishing into the whisper of the sky?

 
The branches must part with them soon,  
Watching as they dry, curling towards silence.  

No blame rests upon the season,  
Nor on the roots, hidden from light for countless years.  

Some leaves will fall,  
While others cling, even in their frailty,  
Still tethered to the branches' tender grasp.

It is autumn—  
A time of quiet surrender and selfless giving.  
The season where rivers of strength swell unseen.  

Change is the herald of progress, they say,  
A preparation for the new stage of life.  
It readies the earth to birth a new era,  
A blade to cut through the hardships ahead,  
Nourishing roots with quiet wisdom,  
Reflecting beauty in the mirror of its decay.  

Autumn comes, soft yet resolute—  
The season of transformation.