Automne

There is beauty in your sadness as there is treasure in your fall
as you have surrounded me with an autumn of your tears.
What once was gold is now merely golden of time I will always endear.
Thus heed not the winds as they lament of hearts broken
Rather that they should sing sonnets of the moments we shared.
As it is not so much about the dream but the dreaming
nor your shade but the shadow
- Of our years.


© Charles Coakley Simpson 2003