Leaves fall, and lie forgotten on the ground,
Until a footstep rustles them again:
A letter brought my thought once more around,
Crisp deckled pages, fine-veined from your pen.
Most loves choose other seasons. Many hold
Forever fogblind spring, or summer’s sweat,
Or silent winter’s deep respectful cold;
Most chase them all, and have not caught them yet.
But we keep to our thoughts, and letters sent:
We play our autumn games, and are content.
I entertained an autumn thought of you,
An unexpected warmth with summer gone;
It colored deep, as leaves in autumn do,
And I allowed the wind to blow it on