Autumn Within

autumn

It is autumn, not without

but within me is the cold

youth and spring are all about

it is I that have grown old

birds are darting through the air

singing, building without rest

life is stirring everywhere

save within my lonely breast

there is silence: the dead leaves

fall and rustle and are still

beats no flail upon the sheaves

comes no murmur from the mill.

~ a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) ~

[image source: FlickR]

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