When autumn comes
and leaves become tinder
grey clouds arrest the sun of her vanity,
and I think on you.

I hear your songs, sweet Johnnie
among the sentry of silent, naked trees,
over the din of dogs barking
children laughing, breezes rustling,
church bells ringing, buses groaning
oblivious to your symphony

Only the birds and I are here.
We're still here, sweet Johnnie
forever captive
and in love with you.