White Lies

'What I believe, I'll wail'
-Macbeth

You hate this time of year
when the leaves free- fall from trees
abandon their homes, displace order.

You despise the fading sun
in the earlier hours of dusk,
denying natures law.
Take it as a sign- a bad omen.

You cannot understood
that people change,
sometimes for the better,
sometimes for the worse.

You fear the trees
caped in frost, frozen-
crystallising a moment in time.
Proudly displaying; the unscheduled weather.
With no rules or prophecy.