'Season of Mist'

sickly sweet in the air
the copper taste of death
as skies, forlorn and tragic grey
sigh with bitter breath

stirring fragile, brittle tendrels
clinging to and feigning life
lovely even as they're fallen
cut by Autumn's knife

these are signs of things to come
with the shortening of days
and the colors strewn along the path
the beautiful decay

on the wind you hear the whisper
a shivering lament
a time of reflecting reveree
before the last of life is spent