The flowers are wilting, edges curled and browned like parchment
Turning the color of a dying sun

The butterflies have frozen, like frosted blown glass
And the slimy dew has become splinters of fuzzy ice

Skeletal branches stretch into shadows
As the caws of geese stay ringing in your ears

Stormy waves crest on a beach of cliffs
And you sit bundled up in a plaid blanket

As you observe this, you think to yourself
That the death of summer is quite beautiful
like lullaby and dance

The warm browns and hushness of it all
Makes you feel sleepy and warm

The crunch of leaves is an acoustic to your song;
The wind is the choir and creaking branches the strings

Autumn; the dream we brush with our fingertips
Your death holds a sort of silent beauty that I don't quite understand