Watching The Leaves Fall

Sping rings upon the face of the hills.
Lilacs dance while the winds of change prance.
The awadening in my soul is like the galient view from Aurthor's throne. Camelot's brilliant youth sprays mists of Hope across the territories.
What a time of joy, peace, and Freedom.
I inhale the taste of love, curiosity, and exploration as my walk though Spring shines the vivid bright future to co

The border of Spring takes my mind to the next transition of time.
Radiant are the reds of the groves of roses.
Enchanting songs from the patches of Daisies call unto me for attention. The kind of attention that takes a man's heart and locks it to their soul.
Weakening as I smell the fragrant personality of the stamen's spirit. Now captive to the song, scent, and aroma of the spell casting petals swinging and swaying to my stare.

Suddenly, the border of Summer comes to fast.
My persistant mind has forgoten the Kingdom of Camelot, for the beuty of the Daisies song.
The song that filled my viens with a barbituatical peak, not wanting the climax of the melody to reach it's final verse.
The clouds fall upon my state as the tune of the flower ceases. My mind stands clear for a moment to see the bright greens of Summer fade into the new and strange sense of Automn.
Leaves fall upon the now lost Throne of Aurthor.
Drynes, gray, and cool winds spread like the sickness of my withdrawls of the Daisies sweet sound.

As the colors become a page in my visions, and the feel of this dying time subsides with my memory of Spring. What sprite and joy filled my dreams. Now the Mystique Kingdom Of Camelot forges away. As the feelings render unto me, as if I were locked in a small room in the heart of the House of Usher.

Now Lying upon my crumbled space of decadence, I think of the faint sound of what once was called love. What now I call the Fall, of my House of Usher.....echoes , pain , screams in my deep cask's of my mind. Sounds that pierce, prod, and remind me of the Blissful high , that sound I hear over and over, 'Nevermore" nevermore,," as this reminds me of the Poet who led such a short and ill life, Loosing every song he had, died at such a time, a time that had no playful Spring, Vibrant Summer, but to find his Winter alone on some damp cold Tavern alley.

Should we let the wall of our strength crash for the loss of ones season.

Drifting off, singing a new sonnet