Autumn

The passion is getting old
....like october trees are...
is losing leaves
shining thousands of yellows
millions of reds
I'm getting old in you, cosy
the only one native resident
I speak your native language
and grow the naitive leaves
Olding together
growing tattared branches
I wear my habbits out
You're wearing mine all time
Imaginary trip
in the autumn leaves
before the snow falls
covers us both