A gust of light cuts through a mostly barren tree, its branches a bleak reminder of what the once were.
The leaves of yester-year break to the ground, in search of surfaces anew
The leaves, they dance and fray, around in the plush dawn air
The oranges, the browns, the yellows and greens
It was the last autumn
The glow of an early day's end cast about through the shed’s peak.
The constant threat of winter loomed closer
A promise never fulfilled
It would be the last gentle breeze
The last morning dew drops on fleeting grass
It would be the last shade drawn
The last hint of allspice
The last evening in by the fire
The last autumn
And the spring before had hope for sovereignty
The summer brought smiles from children
Maybe solace was granted in being spared another New England winter
The last autumn is all we have
