Gone

The black-eyed Susans are gone, the question of fall has begun. Winter will arrive at last, the scarlet summer is past. We've filled our sacks full of spun gold, and been enraptured by the tales of fantastic stories told. Now outside the window of our heart, we see the cold snowfall start. Friendly fires fade, as do the plans in youth we once made. Illusions of summers perfection shatter, with the weight of things that no longer matter. The black-eyed Susans are gone, they've sung their last sweet song. Even fall now is nearly done, a chill in the air prophesies winter has thus begun.