A piece of notebook paper

A piece of notebook paper

Sliding across the sidewalk

Making only slightly more noise

Than the rustling leaves

Keeping it company

On its aimless, wind-driven trek.

On the grass now

Doing lazy back flips,

Resting now and then

To whisper to the leaves.

It does not belong there

Among the lounging leaves

Speaking of summer spent –

This thing of man,  

Harsh against the fading pastels,

The lingering echoes of festive Fall

Skittering along,

Nudging each other

Like unruly school children.

I pick it up to dispose of it properly.

In my hand now,

The paper soiled and scuffed,

Its war wounds trying to obscure

The delicate loops and curves

Of a message carefully written.

Reading the words

I am an interloper

In the heart-song of secret feelings

Committed to ink on paper.

Love tenderly expressed.

Hope and longing exposed,

Reaching out from words

Risking everything

By simply being penned.

In my hand,

The paper soiled and scuffed,

Love carelessly discarded

To be driven by the autumn breeze

That now speaks of winter coming

More than summer spent.

Gently I place this emblem of love lost

Back among the leaves

To be carried away 
With the fading colors

Devoid of life,

Driven by the mindless wind.