we have become old...
and have earned this time
of turning... turning wind,

turning leaves.... day turning
to night with a suddeness.
every stroke of color,

every shade of black and white...
and this sudden chill brings
a warmth that our lives define!

our passion is falling
like leaves to carpet the earth....
our bare limbs reach heavenward...

to God, or the next page...
we wait on the snow,
and the small fires the living

build to light the way....
we are the song of autumn...
the wind that fills the empty

pages of forever with human hands....
old warriors, and lovers,
whose touching defines the night!

Eric Cockrell

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-of-autumn/