when the leaves turn.

I’m not looking for a project.
I’ve outgrown men who require assembly,
or complex manuals to understand them.

I want to laugh, and be free.
But if I only wanted games,
I’ve had many offers to play with me.

Those men come with their own tools,
and though they may not be you,
they’d still be something to do.

I’m not looking for a stage act,
I’ve outgrown unrequited love,
and have lost my attraction for tragedy.

I won’t coax you from your history,
or compete with cherished memory.
It’s either me, or isn’t me.

You don’t have to choose tonight,
but autumn’s at the end of summer,
and you must move on eventually.

No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace, as I have seen in one autumnal face. – John Donne


13 thoughts on “when the leaves turn.

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