The death of a Season (Tribute)

Trapping twilights glow
between their spindly arms,
the trees lament their fallen sons,
blown to the ground while church bells sound;
One clang
Two clang
Three to six clangs,
the dark is upon us.
Hallowe'en night, gone and past,
Summer fell dead and Winter put it in the grave.
Dead tonight and tomorrow she'll wake,
to die again when clouds break,
like mens eyes.
To shed their liquid glass tears,
to run their course.