The air vents run cold,
A kind of vacuous rattling.
The wood floor creeks, old,
And splintered along it’s dark grain.
A fall breeze sways leaves,
A crisp type of signaling sound.
Rain drips from the eaves,
Gutters joining the symphony.
Fall is here today,
With its dark but charming mindset.
Clouds are here to stay,
Narrowed paths ahead and behind.
New sounds overpower the hymns of yesterday.