'Neath the glitter and glamour of autumn's mystic...
stood a crowd of crooners, eyeing the majestic...

The weatherman said, today's going to be
one-eighty degrees and sunny...

There's something nostalgic about
dimly-lit roads and faded footpaths...

There were days when my hands were cuffed,
for fear they would succumb to the mockery...

No mountain that's high
and space, impenetrable...

There's a tweak in the air,
each time slumber...

There are things that even time
cannot mend; seasons, that cannot be...

Crystal balls
tarot cards...

.
hundreds of dancers...

At times, I wish, my thoughts could travel
like a twirling coiled rope of wind...

[Twenty twelve at two o'clock in the morning]
December has come, yet again...

He is the epitome
of rich tradition...