The fall is here;

The wind has brought her

On his wings

Of golden leaves

/

And left her standing,

Cold and lonely,

At the door

Of summer;

/

The fall is here;

Her fingers out of clouds

Weave cobwebs

Of despair;

/

Was it by chance or not

That this unending year

Whom in her web she caught

Was me?

/

No, it was always

Meant to be

That a lonely fall

Would come for me,

/

Confused

Because my heart,

When it still beat,

Sounded and felt a little

/

Like her own when she

Stood, cold and lonely,

Knocking on the door

Of summer