Fiercefully

The train rolls by as the remaining vestiges of the autumnal sun warm my face,

A tree still holding on fiercefully to warmer days blots out the sun,

Poor star only needs to shine and warm yet cannot,

Not that is is indolence for she is most punctual of all women.

Only the steely azure sky left to drive my imagination,

Left to stir the soul.

The sun, though, has only one purpose,

And that is to return again tomorrow.