Now Autumn spreads her cloak of heavy mist,
And solitary, down the path I tread.
By chilling winds my weary hands are kissed,
While seeking ghosts of days and summers fled.
Behold the empty bench, the silent stone,
Beneath the weeping trees of gold and brown.
The laughter that we shared is surely flown,
Like withered leaves that drift gently down.
A shade, a scent, still lingers in the air,
A painful phantom of a love erased.
Despair has found its quiet dwelling there,
Within the frozen void that thou hadst graced.
But go, depart, beneath a brighter sky,
If joy awaits thee in another’s keep.
I yield to silence with a heavy sigh,
And bless thy journey whilst I stay to weep.
Echoing the melancholic beauty of Keats and the stoicism of the Victorian era, this piece transforms personal heartbreak into universal art. It serves as a gentle reminder that letting go is the final, most difficult act of devotion.
