Memory of Leaves in Most Poetry Sucks

Autumn wind, a peaceful friend
Provokes my ego rescinding.
Coolly it blows the secrets it knows.
Does it whisper to me of an ending?

Now crunching leaves, the effects of breeze;
Are they a hint to what I’m missing?
Such sweetness there, like the smell of her hair.
I imagine she’s here and we’re kissing.