Autumn

The smell of the wind stirs up the crisp leaves

As well as memories

Of childhood play, young love, and loss

The crisp scent a bittersweet reminder

Of the season of happiness and togetherness approaches

While also a reminder of death

Carrying the loamy scent of oncoming decay

For something is only new once

And one day must yield to time

But the sight that accompanies this smell

Although it tells the same story

It is read like a mother to a child

The vibrant range of colours a reminder

That beauty is found to those who see it

No longer the start, not quite the end

The moments of breath-taking wonder

Cherished only when appreciated

Appreciated only when understood

That with every new meeting

A parting is sure to follow

Though it need not be as bitter as the wind

For warmth will come again in time

When we embrace it

Or from within, stirred up by memories

Of oranges, of reds, of yellows

Of childhood play, young love, and what was

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