Lawrence Gartshore

A song upon the autumn wind

that does float and call me to your side,

like a siren beckoning a sailor to his end;

this love is true, it cannot bend.

And yet in your aura death loses its sting

and becomes naught but a sweet release from the pain

that being in love with you does cause;

my heart is open, emotion bleeds and pours.

So, at the end, when I close my eyes,

the curtain calls, I say my goodbyes,

the memory of you shall always be twinned

with that song upon the autumn wind.