I.
He was a gentleman with utmost civility.
He arrives in town and gains autumnal popularity.
Some are grieved and some are releived at his arrival.
Who accompanies him at departure is final.

II.
He carried the crows for birds in fashion.
White chrysanthemums growing in his tapestry.
Carriers of grace are the carriers of his carriage, the black horses pass each hemlock tree with loud silence of a mouse when they come to the town.

III.
I haven't eminence neither grace.
Yet he spared a glance at me.
In a hearty conversation we got engaged; one of the horsemen and I.

IV.
I told him what mattered.
It wasn't the red of the chrysanthemum he offered instead of the white.
Light of the dawn was where they grew.
Light which the critters called "the way of the mighty landscape. " seemed the like the newest of names of the dark of night to me.
To speak with certude, the "light" seemed to shine for only a few.

V.
Our walks took us to the gardens where the immortelles grew.
I had an inkling of a feeling which brew.
I had only intended to allude the idea but he already knew.
That I, only a mere resident of the landscapes; wanted to join his royal carriages.

VI.
To be as still as a stone.
To be as frozen as history.
To have a rest, heavenly eternal.
To have silence louder than the loudest sound the critters can make.
To have time, as only a label.
Lost in a fog of despair, it seemed excessively tempting to me.

VII.
But the horseman told me something wise.
He said that the winds of battle take the roses which grow in the gardens of the landscape.
It leaves a few, frail yet stout-hearted things behind.
Just like those "frail" nimble beings I had to rise.
Fight against the tide.
If I did, he would meet me at the other side.

VIII.
The night ended and so did the hours.
The light of dawn helped rise the critters from their beds.
I made a vow, to embedd his lesson deep within.
Till then the white chrysanthemums were an evidence of his confiding company and an image which lasts in my brain as a memory perennial.

Note:- I wrote this because I was highly inspired by the poem of Emily Dickinson called "For I Could Not Stop for Death".
It's not as brilliant as hers and can never be and also our ideas of both the poems are highly different.
#poetryforall
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