The Fallen

In autumn breeze you fall before,
The throne from which you were crested.
From your new perch you do implore,
For your position to restore.
With new freedoms youíve been vested,
In autumn breeze you are restless.
Though amongst your kind youíre nested,
How you resist being rested.
But your journey is quite questless,
As you remain sadly crestless.

In autumn breeze you lie greeting,
Welcoming the winter aboard.
Like so many soldiers meeting,
Your time together is fleeting.
Conquering the land like a horde,
In autumn breeze you are speeding.
No quiet corner unexplored,
Yet to your throne quite unrestored.
Despite the worlds quiet pleading,
Itís the autumn breeze youíre heeding.

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