Your letters rain like petals,
Autumn flowers masked with ink,
Floating, drifting, endlessly,
Or so it just may seem;

Wind as the propeller,
The spirit which creates the start,
Of which your words will fly from,
Directly to my heart;

And if echo be what you need,
I shall respond most dearly,
Stanzas attempting to match the beauty
That you will always be;

And that I will never see.