Autumn


No one told me
that this month would be
the same as the last,
only different.

Everything's still the same.
Only the leaves had changed.
The black, lonely arms of the trees
reflect the way I feel.

I reach out for you,
but you're not there.
Only wind. The trees, too.
They reach out for summer long-gone.

A little too late.
No one has any idea
what they have until it's gone.
As for me, it's too late--you're gone.

**published in theLakeholm Viewer in 1998, Mount Vernon Nazarene College's own newspaper


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