In that moment,
when truth began to tease
the reality of fantasy,
did the world continue with
lovely effort – the sort of delight
that gives breeze to sated doldrum.
Simple to see,
we might suggest one wintry evening,
we knew why the cold snap,
icy chills upon naked cheeks,
did indicate a living human being,
rather our own distracted self.
While the light of night will fade,
the oddity of the earlier day,
such energy, turns to decay,
when a resonant fire burns,
the sort needs identity,
rather instead than approval.
Whisper sweet the winds of autumn,
we will endure another shot of old.