Our Lost Autumn
The beacons lit, the fire spreads
Into the hearts of many.
An impossible glow that fills our heads;
It's warmth is quite uncanny.
The soft and chilling breeze
Draws our shoulders ever nearer,
Hunching over with such ease
As if to make what lies there clearer.
The amber sun sinks into the gilded hills.
The land heaves a weary sigh.
Nothing but the nearby mills
See the people moping by.
And how the sky is softly faded!
I cannot feel your hand,
That hand I've never hated;
Why it's not here now, I do not understand.