The first week of October
Held the mountains every day
Since the mountains couldn’t stay.
You could say they wanted to,
But let’s not patronize them.
Leaves brushed by wind’s winter hem
Blushed, as usual, and fell.
The mountains would follow soon.
The mountains were not immune.
Winter mountains aren’t the same.
They have some things in common,
Just like your generations.
You don’t sense the same people
In your continuous waves.
Neither were those mountains saved.