If autumn forsake me dear spring
would you plant kisses on my brow?
as he once did when I fell beneath self-assumption
and let me hold your hand
to feel the warmth that once emanated
from his breath meeting mine.

If autumn departed us dear spring
would you let angst-ridden words lie?
and let yourself miss his silent knowingness
of how we'd react to everything he'd say
be it of the stars or lies.

If autumn passed dear spring
would you shed leaves for his loss?
and kiss the tressles of bitterness
that parted the longings long enough
to let the sighs fall from my lips
just so the roses would wither enough
to let room for the new ones.