Today you asked me, "What are you thinking of now?
Of monsters and miracles, of mice and men?"
I smiled, and shook my head, and said in reply,
"I'm thinking of the autumn that might have been.

I'm thinking of golden sunbeams extinguished,
Of trees robbed too soon of their rubies and gold;
I'm thinking of skies bleached a ghostly grey,
Of snow falling like leaves in the mid-October cold.

I'm thinking of days of storms and roaring gales
Instead of autumn's tranquil mists and breezy air;
I'm thinking of winter marching in on summer's heels
With no surcease from gloomy snow or the sun's glare.

I'm thinking of all the luminous hours wasted,
Fled like creeping shadows before the bright sunrise,
Of wandering amid the shadows of a windswept night
And seeing the autumn moon reflected in your eyes.

I'm thinking of everything we could have had
Of the time lost that will never return again,
Of a wealth of beauty withered by an early frost;
I'm thinking of the autumn that might have been."

Penned by my hand on the 25th of Valnuary, in the year 434 AF.