Crisp breath of the October morn

Fogs the window, reflecting warm light 

Ever into the smallest room,

From whereout, the grandeur of the outside world, 

Obscured by itself, still comes on through, 

As feeling replaces vision

As the dominant sense for the time. 

 

The bluish sky seems to bear down

On the dying leaves, hushed on by the wind

Through which, cars steadily make their way, 

In the humdrum life there adopted

Surrounded by the fleeting chaos 

That is unbound beauty

In a limitless rushed whisper