Strolling

Arm in arm, hands intertwined,
strolling through the woods.
Talking, touching, seeing you,
with windswept hair.
Dragging feet, through piles
of gold, fallen from the trees.
The still, fresh crisp of Autumns
night nips our noses and cheeks.
Frost pockets, stay in the darkest shade
where the Sun never reaches.
Threads of ice from water splashed,
cling to banks and branches,
while rocks and stones, become encrusted,
with coats of crystal glass.
Lay your head down on my arm
and make my chest your pillow.
Close your eyes and listen love,
to words, soft, warm and mellow.