Then the rains came, from the West
And soaked the ground, with out request.
The leaf's of yellow, gold and brown,
Will soon be falling, to the ground.
Raking and gathering, leaf's so sodden,
Make the best compost, for the garden.
This cycle of life and death, remain
To bring forth the beautiful flowers, again.

I don't understand you.
Not anymore.
When you speak in riddles,
Unlike before.
Discussions have become
A guessing game.
You are talking about someone.
I'm trying to guess the name.

I found myself growing short
in my answers to the questions,
I heard over and over again.
Repetitious, as she doesn't recall,
what I told her a few moments ago.
I realized that I cannot be short
with my reply to her questions.
What if these are the last conversations
I have?
I need to treasure all my discussions,
as the precious moments they are.
I love you, my dearest one.

A double Impatiens, am I
Very pleasing to the eye.
I hope that what you see
Makes this day go happily.