Tears

Somber hues of evening

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.