Autumn dressed in colors ranged from gold to grey
A chill, crisp wind carries leaves from the trees to the lake
A lonely traveler will walk amidst the ducks to a bridge far away
From his seat beneath an age\'d oak, a refuge from the sky
Across a frosted field, he did depart, quick-stepped to the cold
Green grass lingers ‘spite the northerly breeze, underfoot
Had seen a friend, and called, across that field, without reply
Save for the cry of geese, lamenting coming loss of summer warmth
Striding well into the evening, while the sky her violet colors donned
Across one field for hours of light with the wind at his face
To the tree at the end of the path, marked journey’s end
To find there-under kind regards of resting friend
Against the cold and dark of night, to that end, the traveler strode
Had reached the tree, he found it bare
His friend no longer resting there
He must’ve left this chill-grass garden
To find some other friend, some other face
To lead another traveler to his resting place