Yesterday evening, when I met up with my friend Brian, he reminded me of this beautiful Shakespearian sonnet:
“That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long”.
K Morris - Poet 
An absolutely beautiful sonnet Kevin. Did my heart good. Thankyou so much for posting it. Oh to have literary friends to meet in the pub. None round here lol
Thanks, Lorraine. You are very welcome for me posting it. Yes Brian is an old friend and its always great to catch up with him! All the best – Kevin
The Bard did a great job with this sonnet. Very appropriate reading for this day. Thanks for sharing, Kevin.