To Autumn Poem by Peter S. Quinn

What will you say now that your time's almost done?
A heart disturbed in the deepness of blue
Feelings like leaves withering there on
Never again its green foliage to renew

Name of unnamed - lonely and faraway
Gentleness of dreams and displays to keep
All that has met its past and gone today
Inside your solitude and far in its deep

Yesterdays in its many instances
Beckons of the heart in its reddish blanches
Wings that were flying in incandescence of air

Bringing the distances nearer and free
Those that were of night and sometimes blare
All that was to seek in its eternity