gistfile1.txt

When autumn plants its dagger in the heart
Of summer, it supplants the waning year’s
Warm season with its sickly counterpart,
And signs of life begin to disappear;

When summer’s lungs give up their final breath,
The distant sun withdraws its warming rays,
Abandoning the failing year to death
And leaching out the lifespan of the days;

When looking up at night, I see the sky
Devoid of warmth, and, standing on a hill,
The frigid winter wind comes gusting by
And permeates me deeply with its chill.

But I don’t feel it with your hand in mine,
Enduring through the dying of the light.