11/06/2025
🍂 Fading Gild and Changing Skies
The golden thread that crowned her youthful brow, a sunlit river, bright, where breezes played, now softens, as the summer's fervor now begins to dim, a promise to be weighed. For in the strands, a silver whisper lies, A quiet echo of the coming frost, Reflecting not the blush of azure skies, But memory of brilliance nearly lost.
So, too, the world in rich autumnal hue lets slip its emerald cloak for shades of rust, and air grows sharp where sunbeams pierced anew, as vibrant life returns to sacred dust. Her hair, a harvest, bountiful and sweet, mirrors the year: a splendor that will fade, A gentle grace in nature's slow retreat, A lovely pattern time has finely made.
Yet, though...the gold.