The swaying trees in the Autumn breeze, recalls the touch of spring,
Shivering in the frigid wind, while a lonely robin sings,
Sunshine hides behind purple clouds, on a morning slick with frost,
I sigh and stretch, a little smile, for all those things I lost,
Torn from my grasp with the yearly flood, a current takes me down,
Past that house I once laughed in, on the outskirts of town,
Every thought is slow today, thickening with the cold,
I tell you now I’m far too young, to feel this damn old,
Where do all the good times go, when the peaks are robed in white?
Where do all the friendships go, in the darkest part of night?
Prop a wine bottle on the table, right next to an empty glass,
When I get home I’ll pour a bit, and toast to all that passed,
Saying goodbye to my frigid view, I’m warming up my jeep,
Another day, another silence, of secrets that I keep,
If you should ask I would not tell, these skeletons are mine,
It is a mask, I wear it well, though you may see in time,
When I think of you every now and then, I curse my stubborn pride,
That taught me fear and held my tongue, while looking in your eyes,
One thing you gave, I have no words, to articulate this thought,
Sitting only in the aftermath, of the person you have wrought,
The cold fingers of the wind, like your cold words within my heart,
Make me shiver deep inside, where you have left your mark.