A misty, warm, autumnal day.
The ripe wishes to stay.
But say goodbye to Keats. AI
has a greater memory and a sharper eye.
The data says autumn will be gone
and change will come to every lawn,
the late daisies which extend themselves under clouds
in front of old, decorous houses,
the piles of that miniature, papery yellow leaf,
a cheery slaughter which mitigates grief,
the languorous grass and puffy flowers.
Summer hoards its shortening days.
Autumn hesitates to give away its hours.
I have been trapped in a day like this before;
unexpected beauty surprised me. You
belong to that category. But you are no more
and every shape that fills
my eye today will renew the core
red look of these eternal hills.