a wind turns grass to gray
and still it was my place
citric stains bring fruit in folly
while here i'm left hanging
tides of mood, reds and blues
they speak soft alls to deaf ear
the aged call of fall inlaid
when i'm full of empty
clarion harrow night of white
to solace once found of breath
paint intrusion over me
in the eve of my wave
see fracture been of glass green
when your wind blows shatter
come mark the leaves i see turning
to my ever first demise