A golden leaf went tumbling through brisk air
As glowing as an iridescent strand
Of Aphrodite's shining curly hair
While blushing autumn made its final stand,
And every soldier stood, their standards bright
Resplendent streaks of color on display
Much like the calculated show of might
Before a winter wind whips them away.
The onset of a bitter cold campaign
(made harsher by the slowly dimming sun)
Awaits us all, despite neutrality.
Our vibrancy will fade, but hearts remain
As fierce as when we thought the war was won—
We battle with our own mortality.
Are You Reading Me?
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