Autumn Spell

In the cloak of autumn,
A silhouette adorned in gold
Bound to no one
Bows to the old ones
Saying,
"I think we've met".
She glides among the willows
Whose branches are marionettes
Whispering tales of
Royal daughters and sons.
The rivers are silent and still
Like the checkered daffodil,
Waiting for the wintertide to subside,
Making way for the nymphs of spring
To upswing with laughter and pride,
Giving life.
Warily she tiptoes
Down the crossroads
That no one knows,
Leaving golden leaves behind.