The hustle the bustle..
The leaves rattle..
As I walk along the hedgerow.
And the Sun settles..
After days battle..
Sky weeping a song of sorrow.

The silence is loud..
In the midst of the crowd..
As I sit on the bench painted yellow.
No thunder no cloud..
Oh! My soiled shroud..
Now only tears can make you mellow.

Days have turned to years..
Along have grown my fears..
Wrinkled face so earnest yet callow.
And you are far not near..
Your name I write and smear..
Trying to make my love for you shallow.

Soon I happen to know..
It won’t drizzle but snow..
And I will not be waiting here tomorrow.
Remembering her voice so low..
“Next Autumn I’ll come though..”
Wish more days to this fall I could borrow.