The Death of Summer

The morning wind breezes through the whispering leaves,
autumns cold heart has come to stop the clairvoyance of summer’s lost youth.
Once the fingers of utter destruction shriek up the spine of the season its death is fair and expeditious.

The murderer yields the whimpering bayonette only after the prey is lifeless.
Must we remember that all things come to an end,
Thus autumns cold heart is beautiful in an outside perspective.
Its crystal blue breath pierces the souls who stray in  the universes utter brilliance

Ones metamorphosis is equally moving and comparable to the death of summer.
Like a hiccup in the grand scheme of life.
the change is fast, and arduous, though it will never be forgotten.
The awakening has come and the love has died.

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