The autumn folks sleep deep in winter’s snow.
They kiss sweet springtime flowers, blessing buds for future growth.
Summer slakes their thirst, the warm rain of night.
Caressed by day’s tepid breezes, the cool breath of gloaming,
A gentle nudge to arise.
Autumn folks walk in lengthening shadows.
Turn askance and they’ll slip through, guarded by memory’s light.
Their greeting, a lingering susurrus,
Words lost like fleeting thoughts, forever tasted by tongue tips,
A soft nod they’re still around.
The folks of autumn come when long shadows run,
To pull the world’s warmth into the frigid darkness of dreams,
They play timorous games with practiced hands,
Lest the true intent fall from their subtle masking virtue,
Smothered sighs, life’s final breath.