The Echo of Autumn

 


Today in Pherzawl, the tournament unfolds,

The village stirs with laughter in the air,

A stranger draped in longing quietly holds

A fading autumn, thirty years laid bare.


'twas in 1995, its golden rays,

Still warm the shaded ground where soft hearts meet;

We sat apart from play, lost in a haze,

Unmoved by noisy battle at our feet.


The teams, with all their struggling in the mud,

Chased glory we let quietly pass by;

We spoke in glances, love’s shy, drifting blood,

Content beneath the gentle, watching sky.


Though time has washed that season’s thrill away,

Its echo stirs in Pherzawl’s light today.


© 14-10-2025 Emmanuel Serto

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