Short Autumn

it's cold and it's brittle

but it feels just so right

with the wind on my breath

as the leaves dance tonight

and this autumn will be

one to remember by

with its smells and its sights

and its red october sky

the pumpkins are burning

down the street so alit

and death lifts on the breeze

a feeling I won't soon forget

its the approach of the season;

the dust of a year

swept away with the summer

while the winter creeps near

its the children all playing

in their grandmother-knitted mitts

with the twigs getting caught

in the weave and the blitz

and the sun is so dim

in the paling sky beyond

but it doesn't matter any

because its magic lingers on

in the stars and the chill

that will dance on in its wake

as the season still calls

with its rough, musk ache

and we reply ever quiet,

respecting its pause

sitting silent in the remnants

of the year's harsh laws

while the fall creeps away

just as quick as it came

with just a month to linger

and remember its name

too soon comes the ice;

the wintery dawn

not long stays the crisp

and the peace of the drawn

and the leaves, so they cripple

and crumble beneath the feet

of the changing of the season,

the end of this week.