The weather turns and the page counts run high/ nestled in my room, a candle drips/ books rustle, countless chapters stacking up/ my window shows the evidence of fall as summer eclipses
the melodies slow down to a soft sway/ mornings cool and evenings come soon/ colds run rampant as the weather turns/ old reruns and dogeared books under the moon
the smell of ink and the burn of hot tea/ an old sweater with holes you meant to fix/ a bed cozied in the corner of your room/ the soft yellow haze of a fall full of treats and tricks
