Poems ✍️

A sister, the illegitimate one,
Is in the background
Waiting, waiting waiting
For there is the breath of death in the air
The smell of rot and decay
As all good things have to end.

What will be the winter's winds;
Grow cold,
Rattling the shutters, twisting the lifeless leaves
Stirring the dust long settled but freshly awakened
Even the sun seems less bright
The moon casting fewer shadows
The brook bubbles and becomes quiet.
The girl's hair thins and turns grey,
Autumn is here.