This morning, I see you in the cannonball tree
Come crash into me, I think
Through the rustling of falling leaves, your voice calls

You are hiding within the pale red fringe-flowers over there, I am certain
I search for any relic of your scent amongst them
My senses ache to be engulfed in your love

Two blackbirds sing to each other from across the trees
I should call, I think
Maybe if your voice could touch my ears, everything would be alright
Under the drizzle of an August day, I fall in love with you again

But I can still see you crying that day in March
My sweet boy…
Maybe you belong beneath the fallen leaves