The Whisper of Autumn
The golden leaves drift softly from the trees,
Like scattered coins no hand will ever find.
The autumn breeze moves gently through the seas
Of brittle vows that time has left behind.
The trees stand tall, their branches bathed in gold,
Yet tremble in the grasp of fleeting days.
Their roots still hold the earth so firm, so old,
While sunlight flickers through the amber haze.
The brook flows on, a silver thread so thin,
Its song now hushed beneath the autumn’s chill.
Once bold, its voice now whispers deep within,
As winter waits beyond the distant hill.
The sky, a painter with a crimson brush,
Now streaks the clouds in shades of burning light.
Its artwork fades beneath the evening’s hush,
A masterpiece that vanishes by night.
And oh, the air! It wraps around so light,
Like scarves that lovers drape with tender care.
It whispers low, both sorrowful and bright,
For autumn knows its time will soon be rare.
By Md Nasim Akhtar Shamsi
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