In silence,

the fading summer passes,

the plovers fly,

the river gleams golden

where amber half-lights wane,

a dreaming kiss of the golden season

as the flowers wither.

Walled with far indigoes

of the slumbering year,

The season on a windless altar burns;

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Splendid as rubies

glittering on a sea of sand.

My heart has taken

from the torched leaf

A swiftly soaring glory,

and the grief

Of withering hope is colored

like the dying year,

with scattered petals

and dandelions drifting

into the west.