The elm trees sway under August’s breath,
The sun, a lion with its mane ablaze,
Watches over Summer and Autumn—
Two sisters meeting in the garden’s quiet dusk.
They sip on rosé, tasting memories in each drop,
While crickets play their twilight song.
Their words, soft and fleeting, drift like shadows,
As they wait for their brother, Winter,
Who will soon lay his frost across the earth.
Daffodils now solemnly bow their heads,
As leaves, in their silent fall,
Take on the colors of change.
A chill slips through what has come to pass,
As the elder sky wraps itself in black,
Preparing for the long night ahead.
