The Chill

Take heed in your monotonous life that you are not caught unaware
By the scent and feel of the seasonal chill in the air

Most treat it as a harmless change of one season to the next
Not realizing the within its frigid grasp is a terrible hex

The harsh cold that we feel upon us is not produced from on high
But rather by the collective exasperations of all the forgotten dead's sigh

And as the chill transforms into a torturous cold upon our skin
Remember it's because more and more spirits want to join in

Exhaling their once dormant breaths into the world of the living
The rattling dead leaves on swaying limbs giving voice to their grieving

So be weary that you don't inhale too much of the grieving dead's breath
For instead of a fleeting sickness you will catch your own death