Written by Kyer en Ysh November, 2000
These autunm's leaves are dead they say,
Though colored as the dawn of day,
Divested of the life they held
They fall to ground like spirits felled.
But once upon a memory,
As with Greek Plays of Tragedy,
These leaves were rich with verdant Life
And knew nought of their coming strife.
Your youth so bright with promised bliss,
Not knowing pain from time's dry kiss,
How was it that it slipped away
Unseen by you with each new day?
Were thus you caught so unaware?
Or did you fight the cold night air?
Sought ye to change the ebbing tide?
Force wished the warmth back to chilled hide?
"You fought Sir Time and yet you fell,
Where's I've found refuge from death's knell
And yet I wonder who has won?
For I must live without the sun.
In death's embrace you can release
the weight of time and find sweet peace.
Those gifts are but a dream for me:
By gaining time I set them free.
Yes, gained I time, but Summer lost,
And now I dwell in Winter's frost
Unable to be warm once more,
Forever shunned from Heaven's door.
Oh, papered notes of autumn's fire,
I envy you your mortal byre.
Your time was lived in God's own sight,
But mine is hidden by the Night.
"They are only leaves, mon fils. More will return in the Spring."
"Yes, LaCroix. Only leaves," Nicholas murmured in appeasement. Silently, he tossed the colorful foilage into the neighborhood's controlled bonfire before rejoining his sire on their evening walk.