Late autumn wind
Whispering friend
You speak to my heart
Again and again
At times with the strongest of gusts
Push to discuss
All the calendar days
Colored by her ways
Sunshine gold, sunset orange, and crimson
Love that ripened but so soon out of season
When suddenly her fingers loosened from mine
Her hand dropped heavy like fruit from a vine
Falling
Fading
Passing
Brown memories skitter and scrape across the street
They crunch to pieces beneath my feet
Like pages from some ancient book
I turn and take just one more look
Marking that place
Years try to erase
But the aroma of leaf decay
In a melancholy way
Is somehow pleasant in the bare-branched orchard
Where I stop at an empty wooden seat
Savor the taste of her kiss
Harvest apple sweet
____________
Andrew Dabar
Autumn Wind
Andrew Dabar 
Lovely poem…an apple cider brew of emotions.
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Your description is lovely, sort of puts the thing on a Barns and Noble shelf!
It’s strange that this poem was the result of a phrase in my mind, waking me from sleep. “Harvest apple sweet.” The last three words of the poem.
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Well, your waking thought resulted in a beautiful poem. 😊 Sometimes, a dream will turn into a story or poem for me.
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It’s curiously cool the way it works, huh?
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Yep. Ideas also hit me while walking or showering…my mind sort of empties out then, lets go of the BS of life.
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Smiling.
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