Poem

Magic Key

In the Fall,
I remember the empty bench
That you
Took a picture of
And asked me to
Wait to sit on
With you
Because you couldn't
Help
Falling
In love with me.
All the leaves
Look sickly,
And all
The bright and busy bees
That buzz around in the Spring
Are gone.
And all
The golden colors
Of the Fall
Are gone
And piled up in rotting bags,
Ready to be burned
Into nothing.
Every
Thing
You
Are
Is
Magic.