Seasonal

[gerard quain]

Autumn

The sign's are there
The wet road littered with leaves
Like life strewn with , what might have been
Autumn or the fall as our American cousins say
Has that sense of foreboding, like a stay of execution
Before winters decay
Forty eight autumns have come and gone
The laughter lines are wrinkles now
The grooves of experience cut into the skin
They don't lie, they show you have been
no innocent witness, no one to recall
That this loner has been of worth
But as the nights pass, the visions come
The dreams born of memory are the worst
Like a nagging thirst, that makes you drink
These dreams make you think
But I don't want to think of the past
The lover's lost , the friends now dead
Best left in the back of my head
Safe behind the bars of time
I try to add more bars each day
But it is becoming harder work
With each autumn the key of the past turns a little more
The fear of memories gripping
Haunted, and I don't know why
Let me rest ghost's, leave me be
You there is no going back
To time's best forgot