Faint shadows labor,
Along autumn paths strewn,
In quaint solitude,
Deafened fervor,
Standing by a forgotten hearth’s tune.
Faded contrast turns sickly black,
The stark wear of time.
The unfelled hack
Through transparent concealment,
Ringing their mocking chimes.
Rags drape over tattered elegance,
As glass eyes look on,
By the sharp winds of time gone,
The colors of autumn splayed.
His hand outreached in remembrance,
On it,
A solitary flake of white.
Jahan Zaib
Class XII
