Autumn: The season of broken hearts.
Trees shedding their leaves,
People shedding their secrets.
The apples are ripe, I suppose.
One half red one half green.
I think I've found love.
Then why do I already fear a broken heart?
Broken wings, no worry.
Broken mind, been there done that.
Broken hearts mend, unfortunatly.
If it stayed broken, maybe it wouldn't break again.
But what am I saying?
For this all started as a simple
poem of Autumn.