Spring has left, and taken the colours with her.
Soon winter will arrive to shroud the earth.
Then even their headstones will no longer be seen.
The lights of Christmas will no longer twinkle for me.
There will be no songs, no gifts under a tree.
What had been, will no longer be.
And because my heart is frozen, autumn cries for me.
In response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers challenge of 8th December based on a photo by Dale Rogerson.