through the void of never ending
there is peace descending
on the morning as paper thin pall

through the leaf of fog frozen
there is light chosen
to show as a path to the fall

and we will follow as we can
through the soft yellow dome
and we will try and try our best
to call this fall our home

but winter will come so swiftly
as we reache for warmth of the sun
this year will soon be over
another in the pale white begone