she is- red like autumn leaves lashes skirting fair skies and a white birch shell in her cool breeze you will shiver and your skin will turn bumpy.
you knew her as a little boy. she, your favorite term whose embrace once wrapped you up, unprejudiced. her, a friend and Season, her passing perfume then didn’t mind that you were alien.
you know her, still a little boy as you remember how she was
and see how pretty she is now how good she smells like fallen leaves. how her cherry boughs smile and how her crisp air clings about your thin and lonely body with ease.
how happy for a while she’ll make you.
as for me, I can have no argument- I have no leaves to show for. I am made of only bark I am so damp and bitter-smelling like death and dark and Winter’s biting I am not beautiful with color; I am barren and though I too can make you shiver, my cold will always grab your bones.