The two strangers my autumn leaves shade.
The wind that whistles through my branches shakes
The leaves. The sir is filled with crimson parade.
Their eyes, they meet. My leaves, they break their stares.
The newfound weight on each side makes me creak
As each wood plank gets settled down, the two
Of them, they move about. They do not speak,
They shuffle their shoes as silence, it grew.
To keep them busy, my pages they turn.
Their eyes do not look at my news. They shift
Their gaze to judge the other. Their eyes they burn
Through me. Their mouths seemingly start to lift.
Except their phones do call. So quick they jet
To work. And that is how they never met.