Sprigs in rust,
red,
gold,
and yellow
are filling the meadows.

Falling leaves
are hurrying
to kiss
the crying ground–
who cares what abounds!

In the cold murder
of their dream to be together;
Again, reality,
is the ruthless killer,
Again, on the loose again!

Poorest wistful bliss declared:
Dead on the Scene.
Poorer dream: Unresponsive.
Poor gusty winds in cuffs charged:
Accomplice.

On a Friday Morning,
Forsaken trees sing elegy,
while dead Heart gives its own eulogy:
“Odi et amo-”
Her closing verse.

The bereaved are tearless;
while the Grasshoppers mourn like mistresses;
oh, but the crickets are speechless.
Guess, they’ve never seen
that much tears and tearless before.