The brook gurgles beside, and I sit with a paper in my hand,
Wondering what I could possibly write that could change your mind,
So I write, “I miss you, come back please?”, and make a paper boat out of it,
Does this brook run through where you live?
The breeze turns into a stronger wind, and I sit with a paper in my hand,
Wondering what I could say in defense of all my mistakes,
So I write, “I am sorry, honestly, truly,” and make a paper plane out of it,
Does this wind blow towards your house?
The trees bear leaves a shade of orange, like your favorite dress,
I sit on a bench, one where we used to sit not so long ago,
And run my hand through the cold iron handle where your hand would have been,
Will you come to sit here this fall?
The narrow lanes so full of leaves, and winter is nigh,
Soon they’ll be painted white, a layer of ice warmer than your breath,
I would do anything that you asked of me,
Would you come back to this world?