Amélie,

hair of the Phoenix, legs like the aspen,

white as milk

Amélie

and sweet autumn hay,

that change is in the air today, filling my lungs with remorse

her smile singing the song of all mens’ hearts

the loss of a season

and only now, in its’ absence do I notice

the leaves are still here

but different

my fate is to notice too late, to breathe too little, to stare too straight

soft soil and old magnolia trees

Amélie, evergreen

swinging her narrow feet from above

but I didn’t notice that simple pleasure,

just the flies and the chiggers