The autumn hush has settled, cool and deep,
Golden leaves, secrets the breezes keep.
They spin and drift, a mesmerizing dance,
A silent, fading, wistful, fleeting glance.
We walk the path, where rustling carpets lie,
Your hand in mine, beneath a muted sky.
We watch the young, their fervent, fiery bloom,
Spring's reckless passion banishing all gloom.
Our love, it is the autumn, soft and slow,
A tranquil beauty, where the shadows grow.
Life simply flows, a quiet, steady stream.
The autumn of our lives, a gentle, soft regret,
A quiet melancholy, we cannot quite forget.
For what is gone, its chapter now is sealed,
No past to change, no wounds to be revealed.
Yet with a knowing smile, we turn to face the light,
Embracing dawn, beyond the fading night.
27.10.25
The Quiet Season
© Copyright: Петрова Светлана 17, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126030600269
Свидетельство о публикации №126030600269
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