In Solitude

Alone, awaiting warmth to show,
I'm stroked by autumn's final breeze.
These vibrant branches once aglow
are now suppressed by time's disease.

To frigid winds of winter's blast
I've lost the friends who filled my days.
Now memories of summers past
must heat my frame with echoed rays.

I long to see the children run
to fly on swings amidst the air;
their joyful smiles as dreams were spun
are lost, augmenting my despair.

Alas, the snow will cover me;
entombed I'll rest in solitude,
where springtime is my fantasy,
until the day when life's renewed.