Fall is nowhere
More beautiful than here: green leaves
Tipped with red; rich orange divesting
Into yellow; green lawns strewn
With red and gold; the air still,
And the breezes quiet through the high trees
Against a calming sky of rare blue.

And your garden reclines in a beauty of its own:
Your eyes, no longer young, have seen sorrow;
Your mouth, no longer kissed so passionately,
Is sweet in its aching; your cheek is still soft, still burns
With love, still yearns
For something more.

And when will Autumn come to me,
Bringing its mists and its cold breath;
When will I be free
Of wanting you, and waiting
And waiting
For death.