Withering Poem by MBJ Pancras

I set out at dawn to sylvan woods,
I hear beautiful cry of songsters,
And witness the fluttering of beautiful blossoms,
Day grows and into my blossoms eyes glitters,
Now I hear no cry of songsters,
And no fluttering of blossoms,
The day withers, shrouded with paleness,
I hear the mournful cry of ravens,
And watch brown blossoms falling to the earth,
I come out of the sylvan woods,
And find my hair turns grey.