autumn poem

it tells of good old times
a thousand silent years ago
i had over-prepared the event
had he and i but met
from our hidden places
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
what was it the engines said
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
there is no escape by the river
skies they were ashen and sober
when i looked into your eyes
i saw him once before
in the cloud-gray mornings