…impermanent as existence

The trees are weeping tears of gold
and the sky is painted in shades of grey
a cold wind is creeping in, circling the edges of daylight
the birds call in mournful tones, preparing to fly in search of the sun
leaving behind their empty nests and their ever silent branches
the last flowers are withering, in the first dusting of frost
their bright petals fading into distant memory
I stand here in the emptiness, watching the seasons’ lament
as she sheds her golden cloak, for a barren winter gown
and now, just as you leave, the gentle breeze goes too
into the fading night, like the last dying leaf
impermanent as existence
© Ann Bagnall