Rusty leaves fall silently to the soil,

A carpet of dead leaves covers the ground,

I walk on it, with my heart in turmoil,

Like a condemned man would walk gallows-bound.

Mist settles, like teardrops, upon the tree-trunks,

A cobweb glistens with autumn's tearful pearls,

A few leaves hang on like discarded junks,

Or unfurled drapes for the playful squirrels.

Autumn's melancholy, like heavy stone,

Sits on my heart, forcing tears to my eyes,

For all my sins how I'd love to atone,

For all my misdeeds I now agonise.

Till from this Earth I'll finally depart,

There'll be permanent autumn in my heart.

© P. J. Oszmann (October 2007)