She waited. Where was he? She shivered from the chill,
There was no breeze this night, so quiet and still.
Upon the old bench she sat nestled in the woods,
And wondered for the hundredth time if she had misunderstood.
Perhaps this was not where they were supposed to meet,
She aimlessly stirred the colorful leaves with her feet.
Vivid colors, bright colors, a sorrowful moan from the trees that shed.
Their loss of color, oh how they looked so dead.
Suddenly a whisper of a breeze and a chill captured her soul,
It’s wrong, something is wrong, she shook furiously no body control.
For a moment, only a moment then everything returned as it was before,
It was then she remembered the night it happened. She wasn’t alive anymore
She sat upon the old bench nestled in the woods, waiting.
© Cynthia Clark