A Sonnet For My Deceased Autumn's Lover

Night’s stifling spell can’t compete with his eyes,

Nor can my pages, now, fallen from glory.

His smile awakens the sleepiest skies,

Quiet a voice and troubled a story.

Lost in wisteria, all I can hear,

Are traces of him, such beckoning blurs.

Beautiful autumn and lonely a year,

I may be touched, but his touch is all hers.

Autumn has passed, no wisteria grows;

He's gone off, eloped with his winter jewel.

She's tall, dark, and handsome, and so it goes,

That my betrothed is the reaper so cruel.

One kiss from him and I’m freed from my fate,

So in my glass sepulcher I shall wait.