When planets glow before Aurora’s rise
and stars seem scattered ‘cross the moonless skies,
I walk the leafy paths that take me home;
I have no inclination, now, to roam.

I pass the trembling trees, whose leaves have bled,
and share their sorrow for the leaves they’ve shed.
The dawn is breaking, far off, in the east
and sounds of sighing ghosts have long-since ceased.

‘Neath rolling clouds upon the heathered vales
the dew drops wet the wings of nightingales,
as they seek solace ‘midst the brightening bowers,
shelter from cruel autumn’s senseless showers.

And I walk on, down old familiar lanes;
I hurry, to avoid the coming rains.
I mutter to myself, (that’s just my age.)
And peevish poets often rant and rage.