As summer days turned to autumn,
and soon to winter rage.
Now was the time for reflection,
and thus to turn the page.
Season\'s glow of pantomime show,
was peeping softly from horizon\'s will.
Blowing it\'s breath from far away lands,
with its force to behave so shrill.
The last ways of warming days were about to shred to dust.
Thus a new time would be born with song bird quirk so fust.
Everything would clockwork slow as veins of life be stilled.
Trees looked sad with arms aloft as leaves had compost filled.
The pitter patter of rain on windows,
as streaks of tears ran down.
The clouds all fluffy yet out of breath,
as their form did motion slow.
Boats of the sky performing perhaps,
with aimless plans to go.
The child now dressed in cloak and manner, with lowly slumping gait.
The chat chat chat of friends outside for transport spot to wait.
The walkers dogs do look with gloom,
as owners early dash.
The lorries too with refuse fill,
to collect consumers trash.
And on the train the man in suit does watch his time delay.
as eager work he must now make,
as others try cycle way.
Turn the page is now engaged as the living perform their dance.
Everyone does fully obey as ghost walks take their chance.