the wanderer

two lovers silhouetted against a september sky
together so lonely i knew they would cry
only as the tears started first to glisten
did the wind change so that i could listen
quietly they spoke of a place
where they had together been
and they had left a friend
and a life that had ended before it could begin

 

the couple never realized
that their conversation could be so easily heard
by a wanderer such as I
or that words meant to be kept private
always followed where ever i went

 

everything people keep to themselves

things half forgotten on dusty shelves

or upstairs in attic chests

throw it away and forget the rest

 

the wanderer knows where these things have been

and I was there to watch the stories begin

the lines in a poem

or the lines on your face

let it slip by

 with an autumn leave's grace