Autumn
DAN HARTMAN
There is a wind where the rose was
Cold rain where sweet grass was
And clouds like sheep
Stream o'er the steep
Grey skies where the lark was.
Nought gold where you hair was
Nought warm where your hand was
But phantom, forlorn,
Beneath the thorn,
Your ghost where your face was.
Sad winds where your voice was
Tears, tears where my heart was
And ever with me
Child, ever with me,
Silence where hope was.