S huffling through the leaves that aren't

yet gold or crimson

H ead tilted down, on the first morning

A nxious, but attempting calm

Stop....oh so quiet

A   gentle breeze moves the leaves

I   look up, an aroma fills the air

I t's the Clove and the cinnamon...

The  Autumn  breath  that stirs my soul.

I  turn and see

T he pale figure coming

A gain, the amber eyes

I   recognize

T he crimson lips painted

On a porcelain face

M y soul stands erect at the knowledge

O f all the nights until the Eve

O f  H allowtide...

S he is mine

G oddess of H arvest, take my hand.

A nd in this silence

Is A rcane E nchantment

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