Leaving at October's funeral.
		Funny, how I would bear myself to you
		Willingly
		In the new Spring
		This morning, walking away
		In the dawning winter.
		Brown, brittle leaves
		Wave me off, singing good-bye
		Silently
		The frost-bitten wind
		Freezes my tears
		For now
		Forever
		One argument
		Like others
		With wounding words
		Thrown by Saturday soldiers
		One argument
		Unlike others
		Final.
		Will you bloom for me tomorrow?
		
		

Get in touch with V.W. Bacher