Doomsday Prophet

Doomsday Prophet Autumn, The harbinger of maladies The doomsday prophet. The fall! The fall Saddest of all the seasons For all the wildest of reasons, Wilted blooms, absent fragrance Withered gardens, colours and gaiety The evil spell of Hades Everything spell of gloom; All speak of darker days that loom Large on this unhappy colourless world. The ghosts of the begone Spring Spring from the wildest dread A mild nick of its thorns sharp Drains my heart of all hues How shall I gather myself From the darker blues. Colours and fragrance Of the spring long begone, Warmth and hopes of the summer Too shown the door; Longer are the nights to come All pervading gloom, Cascading cold and a darker sun, When days grow leaner Gone are those days greener. Let me light a candle In the darkening morn And try staying awake, forlorn Over the ages dark and cold And dream of days warmer ‘nd bold Bright and fragrant. A tear drop rolling down my eyes Glimmers!