It’s two-o’clock,
but it seems like six or seven.
The grayish clouds are thickening;
and it’s starting to drizzle.

As meek droplets
rush to kiss the ground,
an old, familiar melody
begins to play.

As leaves in rust and gold,
waltz to the melancholy tune of autumn,
silent tears march
on cheeks partly pink and yellow.

And as the long, dark
and lonely eve approaches,
an old familiar gloom
looms anew.

Uninvited memories appear out of the bloom,
while nostalgia assumes,
while a lonely heart
yearns anew.