Rise and fall of tides

It's may, my dear. An infant yet and humble.
The first downpour does justice to one's grief.
But for the wind, you'd take it for a humbug
That trees in spades are not averse to leaves.
 
Leaves fade too fast, their hue is ever-changing,
And truth be told, the same applies to you,
My dear. You'd say -it's nothing short of magic-
Indeed, it is. To one you're not immune.
 
Perhaps, a stroll is scarcely worth a notice,
Few clever lines couldn't help but fall in place.
No rave to hear, as birds are fairly modest,
There lingers scents in silent morning haste
 
Of ageing wood and birches' lonely idle.
Them I recall, though consciously i cease.
It floods the soul unseen with soundless tidal
Waves of queer things: nostalgia and dreams.
 
I'm on my own, daydreaming that is, sweetheart,
Abounded chair leans towards with a squeak.
A window-shy- don't dares to move when trees part
With solitude - to kiss it on the cheek.
 
"Decades from now what meets the eye shall perish"-
You had struck home, when uttered it, my dear.
It does cast doubt. Am I, when writing, lavish
With my time? Well, in poems, things don't rear
 
Their ugly heads. At least that's something decent.
So be it then, I'll let this pity slide
And try again. With no one else to listen
To, but my faint, romanticizing mind.

It's time i finished. Please,do take precautions,
I'll do the same in spite of whacky craze.
Birds give away the secrets of the oceans,
As they withdrew from boundless, warm embrace.