It is a most ephemeral fall yet leaves have already fallen,
Hearts pierced with feral winds of high, veins chilled with frost most foreign,
Ailing stems drained of their strength, withering away, until…
Darkness imbues the sacred land, where death roams till death fulfilled.
A battle most frightening did transpire; ruthless, cruel, unsparing,
Outcome quite inevitable, yet draped in curtain snaring.
Oh Eastern winds and Northern chills, can your darkest strength be tamed?
This pitchblack might that haunts the night and leaves leave’s lives unclaimed?
Amongst the blades of dew-lit grass the dying leaves do rest,
Graceful warriors, their spirits fallen, in midst of graceless death,
Those shrieking gusts and snowy reaches do winter’s message bring,
But season’s rust and greenful lust will yield new leaves in spring.