Cold leaves blow hither and yon.
The words were there, but now they're gone.
Soaring sunward, dancing high,
flipping, fluttering in the sky.
Pages brushing hand-blown clouds,
diving, cutting through the crowds.
Overturned and over-tossed,
watermarked and quill-embossed,
frayed and fractured, gutter-bound,
dulled and damp, the dragging sound.
Whipped and trodden, center-bent,
twice forgotten and never sent.
Ripped and tattered, corners torn,
faded, sun-kissed, weather-worn.
Ink undone, tangled to pen,
poised and ready to begin again.