The sedative aroma of coffee
And cigarettes permeated the air—
So exhaustively that the fall colors
Did not appear dynamic and brilliant,
Hanging loftily from their imperial perches.
But quite the contrary:
Wasted, tired, dead.
I was not so fortunate to have a cigarette
But sincerely wish I had acquired one.
The site seemed so bleak and somber,
Sitting on that city bench.
Trees were now soaked with discouragement
Rich purple veins attached to a source of life—
Swaying, rustling, yet limp.
Very much alive, very much dead:
An oppressive background of drowned leaves.