say hello, wave goodbye

A fitting piece of verse, which suits my mood, as autumn moves ever closer to waving goodbye:

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

--William Shakespeare
From Sonnet 73: That Time Of Year Thou Mayst In Me Behold