His face, like rain,
That falls and grieves
A simple pain
But he, himself, was like the autumn leaves
His heart a delicately heavy
Stone, he would heave
Into a world unsteadily
Where he himself was a mere autumn dream
His soul was its own universe
Of intricate weave
A sun, patiently waiting to burst
Into a shower of autumn leaves
And as he is the autumn of my dreams
I pray constantly for a summer that never leaves