Lament

Leaves will change
From green to gold,
Like they do every year—

But I cannot
Watch them crisp
Without shedding a tear.

The cricket-chorus
Will be gone,
Our bushes will be still.

When frost sets in,
Ice-cold like death,
I will absorb the chill.

Even lovely things
Need sleep
To flourish in the day.

Flowers bow
Their graceful heads,
And I wish they would stay.

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