Fallen Tawny Leaves

A tale of lost love.

Behold the coming of a winsome day, 
With the twiglets reap'd beside a den,
As branches of birches are trimm'd, 
And tidings of a storm wend till a glen.

The soothing flow found by the ford, 
A glimpse seen in waters of a stream,
As the glint of the sun shines bright, 
In the meadows of the sunset gleam.

Endless fields of grass that lie ahead, 
To seek forthright and then scrump,
Spreading with a waft of the breeze, 
Onto childish lovers lost in a clump.

Sundry sparrows flying in the sky,
Amidst clouds that hover'd amain, 
Whilst middays come straightway, 
Prying amidst those hillocks fain. 

The sweet smell of the bain bluebells, 
To gladden the listless stems thither,
That blossom afterwards in a cluster, 
Shelter'd by the blooms that wither.

Hence to be seen are wistful words,
In a shade that tarries in the grove,
Whence man and woman together, 
Frolick'd erst nigh this abode rove.

A lave bearing witness is e'erlasting, 
In strength and hope of teeming glee,
As lover's names are written in hue, 
In the stour bark of the maple tree.

The meaning of their love is found, 
With an unwavering gale that heaves,
Amidst wonders that were oft woven, 
In the cluster of fallen tawny leaves.