it seems that golden glow
is not the only sign to show
the failing falling of the
waxen leaves in autumn-time

this pale worldly weight
seems hard pressed upon the gate
throughout the yearning year
like bells still heard well past the chime

an echo weaves the frost-laden air
shadows of heartache trap, ensnare
like a desperate pressing embrace
a loving killing moment hot and sublime

this ever-present grey-heart shadow
this dark cloud too weighty to overthrow
it rains a steady gut-twisting stream
and fills the pit from which one cannot climb