Decay

Golden sunshine masking the cold
Of wind from the north west
Swept over cold waters of oceans
Fed by icy lands far off.

We walk briskly, wind blown,
Hands in gloves, scarves tied.
Leaves flutter down around us
To fall weightless, carpeting our path.

Golden sunshine masking decay
Of garden's autumn flowers.
Once fresh and colourful,
They linger now in a certain
Beauty of their own.