Cold air sweeps crisp autumn foliage
Her face was like that of a weeping willow,
young but furrowed by lines of crying
The tears of morning dried in the dusk
but the stains remained on the porcelain mounds of her cheeks
How well she wished things would be
How it were a few autumns ago.
When her dream of talking under a brightly lit October sky.
Suddenly came to be true on a moonless night.