Cold sunshine brushes my face,
Frosted kiss upon my lips to taste.
Autumn time, time, time...
Early this morning I buried my dreams.
After all they were not what they seemed.
Slips sullenly by, falling leaves and sighs
Muttering something, always asking why.
hollow sun so bright I can see nothing
hollow heart a smothering
autumned heart stalling...
voices from the sky calling...
I'm sure they mean no good.
before the child of confusion comes
begotten begging air with wails
from tomorrows aching lungs...
before winter's innocence, and lamb
looking through the leaded windows
understanding winter's scam.
Comes... Autumn time.
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Comments about this poem (Autumn Time by Midnights Voice )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
Percy Bysshe Shelley
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(August 19, 1902 – May 19, 1971)
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