Absent ever to turn thy gaze away; Vexed be— the pith of birth, erelong to thee. Death's grip he knows, linger in thy dismay; Prudence spoils himself, corrupt he be. Now stands the pyrrhonist with sights amiss, Of doom, of spite, of wayward enterprise; Oh be Nature, yes the timeless witness! Dawns veils of change— be man's greatest disguise. His heart decayed, prideful steps be thy walk. He wears thy crown like Ozymandias; Away amongst from thee Almighty God Dead was, dead th

By entering this mystifying change of season once more, creation envelops the marrow of my soul with the euphoric sense of nostalgia. Believably, tides of serotonin seem to come to play for the much needed collection of solace. It is as if Nature is thrusting Her very last breaths of fertility throughout the lands of the earth for us to absorb before laying rest and temporary darkness blankets the atmosphere yet again. Chloris exhales the winds of change as I inhale her