by Brianna G. Harte
The chilly air caresses my face
as it swirls through the park.
While it steals the softness from my cheeks,
it leaves behind a dry mark,
never wishing to be forgotten.
The breezes carrying its cool currents
dance with the leaves of the trees
lining the paths,
overjoyed to have company
whishing with its gentle howl,
forming a symphony few will appreciate.
When they can be free to waltz,
few people come out to be their partners.
It is only the leaves that will willingly
be the followers to their lead,
every so often leaving their abode
to be lost in the smooth art of dance
for the night.
Copyright © 2015 Brianna G. Harte. All rights reserved.