A cool mist falls
Feeling good on my skin
A lazy breeze calls
Dishevelling my hair in the wind

The phone hangs silently
Clipped sturdy to my hip
She has yet to dial my number
As I get prepared for my trip

The trees stand bare
Stretching in the wet
I just stand tall and stare
No good-byes have been said

The cool mist turns to rain
It trickles down my face
But it does hide the tears
For their's no warm embrace

© 2020  Michael Messinger
(All rights reserved)