Encounters

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.