[Nick McRae]

Rev. 2 (for comparison)

You Will Leave Me in Autumn

I feel the summer's end, the weeping grasses,
          the dried willows, the ponds of August,
          conversation echoing from gardens, through
          the dust of fireworks, through dry, frigid air.

I feel the summer's end, when you will leave me.
          When wind turns to a crimson sky, when rain
          courses through November. You will leave me,
          morning's laughter echoing through our past.

I feel the summer's end, when you will leave me.
          When the grasses wither, when the night heron
          makes its final call. When this summer's fluttered
          gold, when the warmth of this life, will end.

I feel the summer's end, when you will leave me.
          When our child has gone, when his child has
          been born. When the sun treads its course into
          new life, into new days, beyond the horizon.

You will leave me in autumn, when the ponds of August
          run dry, when fields of gold reach summer's end.
          You will leave me in autumn, your memory etched on
          a country road, your memory reaching its resting place.

I feel the summer's end, when you will leave me.
          When you will leave me in autumn.

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Rev. 1

You Will Leave Me in Autumn

Summer's end is nigh, the weeping grasses,
          the dried willows, the ponds of August,
          conversation echoing from gardens, through
          the dust of fireworks, through dry, frigid air.

Summer's end is nigh, when you will leave me.
          When wind turns to a crimson sky, when rain
          courses through November. You will leave me,
          morning's laughter echoing through our past.

Summer's end is nigh, when you will leave me.
          When the grasses wither, when the night heron
          makes its final call. When this summer's fluttered
          gold, when the warmth of this life, will end.

Summer's end is nigh, when you will leave me.
          When our child has gone, when his child has
          been born. When the sun treads its course into
          new life, into new days, beyond the horizon.

You will leave me in autumn, when the ponds of August
          run dry, when fields of gold reach summer's end.
          You will leave me in autumn, your memory etched on
          a country road, your memory reaching its resting place.

Summer's end is nigh, when you will leave me.
          When you will leave me in autumn.

Rev: The end of summer is nigh -> Summer's end is nigh
Rev: A life of -> morning
Rev: travels -> treads
Rev: grown -> gone
Rev: morning -> morning's

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Original

You Will Leave Me in Autumn

The end of summer is nigh, the weeping grasses,
          the dried willows, the ponds of August,
          conversation echoing from gardens, through
          the dust of fireworks, through dry, frigid air.

The end of summer is nigh, when you will leave me.
          When wind turns to a crimson sky, when rain
          courses through November. You will leave me,
          a life of laughter echoing through our past.

The end of summer is nigh, when you will leave me.
          When the grasses wither, when the night heron
          makes its final call. When this summer's fluttered
          gold, when the warmth of this life, will end.

The end of summer is nigh, when you will leave me.
          When our child has grown, when his child has
          been born. When the sun travels its course into
          new life, into new days, beyond the horizon.

You will leave me in autumn, when the ponds of August
          run dry, when fields of gold reach summer's end.
          You will leave me in Autumn, your memory etched on
          a country road, your memory reaching its resting place.

The end of summer is nigh, when you will leave me.
          When you will leave me in autumn.

Rev: Autumn -> autumn
Rev: Night Heron -> night heron
Rev: summers -> summer's
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Full disclosure as I post this one, I don't intend to do too much immediate workshopping of the poem as I can't overstate how little time I have, and how hard it's been to fit critiques of my poetry into my schedule. That being said, I'm mainly interested in impressions of this one, and will do my best to reply to those who respond.

This is a poem that I started in 2019 or 2020, and have been tinkering with since. It's not quite in the style I'm writing in now, but I'm invested in it, so curious how others can tear it apart.

Thanks in advance.