A Sullen Walk

I wrote this piece as I was driving through a forest and found that, in an hour, it would all be gone, and I didn't have a camera on me. Trying my hand at classic prose, but I doubt I succeeded.

A walk upon a sullen path
Made slick by nature’s tears
I wandered through the wanderer’s wake
formed over countless years
A breath of air as crisp as death
That brought a sting of pain
Yet hallowed each full misty sigh
That I drew in again
I noted true that in this scene
No leaf was like its kin
And were I to commit to mind
Each lighted vein therein
I would forfeit all space in mind
And leave none left to be
All cluttered knowledge gained in years
Replaced by what I see
With fretful features I seceed
To heaven’s whim with why
I should not e’er record each leaf
Upon my mortal eye
No paint or canvas near to steal
Each dappled beam of light
And in such times of modern means
I’ve none to capture sight
And harvest paletes blasting forth
With such triumphant glee
Will, hour by hour receding  thus
By Winter’s warning, flee
So I’ve returned at journeys end
To forge a tempered still
As iron, hot, from hammer would
So paper would to quill
I prayed to boundless muses fair
Who oft once offered bliss
Yet tattered still my hope remained
A long forgotten kiss
As would a mans first true desire
Would man but hold on true
To happy moments, piece for piece
As young first lovers do
So frozen in my mind it stayed
As frozen as the air
That once I breathed but hours ago
When harvest leaves were there.
I wrote upon my paper then
And words became my means
To paint the picture I had sought
Of pretty, chilly scenes
So hitherto when one should want
In lack of presence, part
No painting then should take the place
Of sight within your heart.