Autumn's Breath Poem by Lewis Dever

The sky wears a softer shade,
washed by clouds the colour of smoke,
as trees set their leaves to flame,
burning bright before they break.

Air sharpens with a quiet chill,
a whisper of frost in each sigh,
and sunlight slips with early grace,
golden dust on fields gone dry.

Crisp, curled leaves scatter down,
like letters torn and tossed away,
a rustle of words half-forgotten,
left to wander and decay.

In the deep rust of afternoon,
shadows stretch and bend anew,
holding secrets in their folds,
as the world spins, turning blue.

But here's the warmth that autumn brings,
in beer sipped by firesides,
in cosy scarves wrapped tight,
and memories tucked where heartache hides.

Each gust stirs the embered past,
a reminder of life that fades—
how beauty can rise, then fall,
and in its falling, feel more made