where hearts like autumn leaves
do falter, I yearn not to prattle of
aught nor unburden the
sorrowed soul.
"I don't wanna talk about anything,"
I said, whilst the hush of
twilight stitched silences 'twixt
thee and me. Let the dusk,
like ancient balm, minister to
our quiet ache, and the unsung
verses of the wind bear
witness to leave unspoken.