This counterpoint to spring is drawing us closer to our fall as reverent sobriety humbles us all with the silence that death brings and so it is with crackling leaves from autumns trees that whisper in the breeze please please listen to me and hear the story I have for thee. I am the voice of death hear how I scream with cracks of thunder that carry you under to the depths of your despair raising each and every tender hair upon your arm that warns of threatening harm a mind awakened with shocking alarm as mortality claws into your thoughts perhaps I’m next it could be me but mother I am not ready as father arrives having sharpend his knives I am filled with misery the childhood glee of wondering has escaped my every memory I tremble in fear with eyes widened by terror, I ask myself do I dare cling to life so violently or let this ending come upon me as pruned by winds own blustering seems an inevitability, I am cast upon the ground and crumbled beneath the soil forgotten are