My nightfall soliloquy in the still quiet, hesitates,
as suddenly the singing of the sorrowful wraiths
rises above mausoleums and graves,
black wrought iron fence gate clattered as it
swung in the wailing winds of October,
the bite of the frost, swirling dried leaves,
whispering of Autumn's finality.
Of those who lay beneath the harvest moon's
luminous tombs of souls both young and ancient,
who passed into another life beyond what
we can only dream of.
Tread lightly, don't disturb their fading song, yet,
I hear spectral childrens' laughter
as they frolic in the graveyard in
Fall's mysterious evenings,
while the loneliness of elderly spirits repose
beneath bare branches of creaking trees,
A deep chill rose within me as I tied my scarf
and I bid them, "Good Night", walking more quickly,
from where, someday, we will all lay.
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