Dark clouds loom over their heads
As if the sky itself is about to cry
Evoking a foreboding, bleak premonition
Unaware of the cruel fate that was plain in sight before them
The chrysanthemum withers and falls
The soul of its eyes, seeping into the crimson soil
The remaining seasons gather to mourn
While Autumn quietly rises
YOU ARE READING
Collection Of Poetry
PoetryWhile I'm not writing chapters, I will occasionally submit some poetry whenever I get in the mood to do so.
