A poem

Autumn's leaves

blush red

at the indifference

of their departing lord

But the cold

of his prolonged absence

turns them brittle, brown

and wilted

Until breaking

under burdens

of love's seeming abandonment

they fall

borne lightly to the ground

as living tears

on death's feeble breeze

Wrapped up tight against the cold

my breath but

an Autumn fog

I walk

their path of broken hearts.