"Peace" of Thought

Her highness, the Willow,  need not adourn herself with the extravagance of fall, for she is confident waving farewell with her hues of green gold in the cool rains of autumn, before falling her limbs to the ground as she sleeps. CNK

Gitty, IT gathered the spirits that lingered, The souls that had withered Then dark it delivered. Fumbling without stumble, All solids to crumble Silenced voices that mumble. And warm sun made to shine As if all was just fine And IT sat down to dine. And Hope's spark fell cold with the full frost of Autumn  harvest. CNK