Is there such a thing as a solemn autumn?
How can that be
When trees decorate themselves with baubles
And colourful clouds
Swirl among their branches
When water glows with lights
From somewhere
Deep within
And lemon-yellow leaves wave to us
from crisp blue skies
The forest may darken earlier in the day
But lights are left on for us to find our way as the sun
Wishes us goodnight
And the Autumn winds play a song
Only the heavy-headed grasses can hear
There is no time for solemn days
When the world is painted gold.
