Scarlet not red, was the color of her petals
Caught was the eye of the gardener
As the wind ravaged the stately gathering
Real terror filled the gardener’s heart for her safety
Lest her beauty be lost in the storm
Even though removing her might be ruin as well
Time was not their ally
Remembrances of flowers past
Only haunted the gardener’s thoughts
Shall truth fade from this world’s day
Even now perhaps it is only in the mind’s eye
The air was crisp and fresh.
There was a sigh and shiver through the leaves.
All around was a rustling of gold, orange and red.
The wind was cool and sweet, the sky clear and blue.
Branches reached up into the endless abyss above.
Grey and white clouds floated idly by.
Swaying effortlessly, gracefully, stray leaves danced upon a breeze.
Ah, how Autumn puts a weary mind at ease.