His heart ran out of autumns,

he lived his last day,

Octobers are now melancholy,

in a very special way.

Seasons bring back memories,

especially the seasons he did love,

the arrival of the killing frost,

memories of harvest time now just above.

Sometimes I wonder,

and ask myself why,

life eventually becomes memories,

as those we love die.

With grandfather in my thoughts,

it is his memory I honor this day,

his heart ran out of autumns,

he had lived his last day.