Sitting on a park bench,
Alone but not lonely,
Dressed elegantly
To meet life.
Wearing a fine suede jacket
Bought long ago
On a happy day.
The yellow handkerchief
In his breast pocket
Matches the few late leaves
Stubbornly clinging
To the almost naked branches.
The breath of autumn,
Whispering a tale of a life,
Of leaving behind,
And finding again,
Encourages them to fall.
As they must.
A sad smile on his lips,
Not of sadness
But of understanding
And gratitude
That all loves and dreams
Those gone, or yet to be
And magical little things,
Like the perfumed neck
Of a beautiful woman
Or the heart of a young child
That somehow contains
All the love in the world,
can still be touched and felt
In the shape of their absence.