Autumn wind around the painted leaves
Chilled the forest heart without a rest.
Ever the pounding silence of the air
Stirred reminders of the frost in the robin's breast.
In the chill air in the forest walked
A figure almost without life or name
In endless sorrow to the silent wind
It cried in endless agony and painful shame.
And I watched from the safe window
Shut in like a dreamer-no power
No power over the dream, only a watcher
And so I stared for a silent, fearful hour.
Safe from the cold outside, doing nothing
Nothing to help the figure in its pain
Unknowing, even careless of its cries
Never wondering its business or its name.
Never questioning the sorrow in the dark cold woods
Where the autumn wind blew the painted leaves
I turned from the window and did not look back
For the dream lasts only while the dreamer believes.