l’automne


Your bookshelves are empty.
Outside, the leaves fall.
We’re waiting through
The saddest autumn of all.

Your piano is sleeping—
Too great for my hands.
Still, I will play
‘Til my heart understands.

I took home your paper
To sketch out your face,
But you have a smile
That art can’t replace.

The trees out your window
Have all become bare.
So I search my heart:
You will always be there.

I’m thankful to have this beautiful woman for a grandmother. And I’m thankful to have her for another Thanksgiving.

Owlhearted


I am owlhearted.
I sing and then I rest
On the highest shelf, on which
I made a cozy nest.

I am owlhearted.
I slumber in the day.
Fairies will come out at night,
And that is when I play.

I am owlhearted.
You can’t deceive me,
For it is not with my eyes,
But my soul, that I see.