We can learn
What it is
That makes our bodies tick
What it is
That makes us run
To that one person
Who will invariably knock us down
And make us small
And make us cry
And make us die just a little bit inside
And keep us from realizing our own realm
Of our own being
Because we are too busy living (or dying?)
In his world
With his friends
And his vision
His life
It's not my life
I had a life once
but it blew far away
On a cold October morning
Up with the smoke of the burning fall leaves
Pretty colors
Red Gold Orange
Somehow don't make up for the green that I feel
When I see him with others
Far be it for me to do the same
I have to wait for him
I have to listen to him
I have to love him
Or I don't exist
I'm nothing
Just a person lying on the ground
Staring up into the trees
At the autumn that I feared so long
The one that would sweep him far from me
And move me into the cold hard winter
Well to October, Mr. Nice
So good of you to come.