In The Spirit Of Autumn

Ah, quiet autumn ! you stole from spring its breeze, its flat vibration, the feelings of ease,
and the  warm souvenirs.A happy twitter larks joyfully over the hill, scents of the fall,  
moments heavenly still, o'er the tip of a flowing quill.Your music waltz like a lullaby  
with every leaf, gives a warm fusion with the foliage scattered, on and beside the empty streets.
 
Time breaks free again, its name never defines a season's reign, as the mist is fairly mild, softly thick, while, to the fine soul and the whole spirit, its the mystical truth of the human and his celestial connection with the whole completion of earth...
 
And , up there, upon the skyline sleeping, in such a heavenly calm; under the far fields growing green, where the small village is barely seen, time has come to weave a rustic beauty, patches of green, blue and many shades of colourful nature enhance the rendition of the thriving quill....and of old brick houses and mown fields of barley and wheat, i pick up a vernal diction in the dead of autumn, revive the fallen fiery leaves of the dead life, that fall apart, inject my ink into each branch, give my bloody sap, when drought hits the trees and the summer's trails burn its barks, and strips nature of its happy cloak....
 
All this beauty is worth our smiles; our poetic devotion, our commitment, that on which we are  
faithfully anchored, rooted to the bone, never faltering, always devoted to it..
 
When the sorrows overflow like the torrents of darkness, and the shadows of doubt assault us to madness; while loss and desperation are all on which our little minds are bent, then a piece of lad is our natural paper, drops of dew are our ink. and nature is our background topic, on which stage we dance, we write, we move breathe, and give our scent to whoever is willing to absorb Nature's Beauty.