Masked in the shadows, the dusky hills drift into obscurity.
Oh, how the Autumn twilight shows the world unimaginable sorrow!
Meandering and reeling, the bygone days are mourned for.
And yet, what an unfathomable beauty this world has become.
The saffron harvest moon shines upon the shaded horizon.
Twinkling in the peaceful after light, the stars are flickering embers.
They sing in the eventide as a trembling constellation.
Dancing, waltzing, leaping, and springing across the evening sky.
Dark voices from beyond murmur their wondrous secrets.
Shivering, the leaves fall in the forest's muted reveries.
The veil is thinned and spirits chase for ephemeral treasures.
Gold, copper, vermillion, and scarlet leaves spin in a gentle zephyr.
Phantom mists, so tender, descend upon that autumn vale.
The dulcet aria of summer is echoing, falling away from our ears.
A swan song, sung in reverence, resounds throughout the land.
Slowly ebbing, fading, and dwindling away in the crisp, cool night.
Nostalgic stories return with the lovely scent of cinnamon.
Sweet treats of the harvest festival stir the fantasies of children.
"Witches," "ghouls," and "frightful beasts" come to trick-or-treat!
Beloved memories echo joyous melodies in our hearts.
Fertile seeds, sown in the fields, yearn for the springtime.
Hunted by the wandering chill, they sleep in their earthy tomb.
In that awesome quiet, they cling on to a common hope.
Dreaming of rejuvenation and rebirth, it seems so near, yet so far.
Drawing nearer, the wild frosts creep forth from the North.
Unfurling its skeleton limbs, it rocks the languid earth to sleep.
Lie down and rest in peace as a slumber cascades down.
Gingerly, the Winter hums a frigid lullaby; a frozen hymn and requiem.
So faint and so lovely, the tune of life's nocturne remains.
Death draws near, reaching out to the hands of our vivacious souls.
Everything is a fleeting vagary woven upon life's tapestry.
Nothing lasts forever but the infinite Circle of Eternity.
Now high, the moon glimmers from saffron to glorious silver.
Here, in this mystic haunting hour, the afterglow expires.
Ah, this diminishing twilight of the day, of the year, of life itself.
Its deathly presence makes the world become hushed...