This brooding weather of warm mists, grey showers
I dedicate to reality. Anguished red leaves lie
strewn on the yellow grass empty of flowers:
the time has come for us to say goodbye.
Change has only marked my longing with your name.
It will not fly sough with the birds overhead.
I find old letters that say, We are the same,
in seeking something to put in your stead.
Touched with the cold hand of regret, I sit
and untangle my dream too late
to ever reach the heart of it.
And I cannot say, This is our fate.
Feeling is fate, but, with or without
you. My heart shudders and cries. Then,
what makes it possible for us to part?
We have not changed, though autumn fade again.