There Came, the Coughs of a Field Maple

Outside My Windows

And Perhaps, it’s a Hymn Sung by the Leaves, Mourning Their Deaths

Suddenly, I Hear

the hands of time will keep on turning, nonstop!  Not my photo…

The Footsteps of a Panther

Crossing Over the Pillows, Stealthily, Entered into My Dreams

That Sound, Must’ve Made its Escape Out of the Ancient String-Bound Books

With that Bitterness from the Tears that the Midnight Cried in Silence

And, the Only Word

That’s Made its Way into My Ears Was

Autumn

still falling, and it won’t stop, until, it’s, completely, empty…not my photo here…

Can’t Hear that

Scent of Sorrow After the Clock on the Walls Turned Rusty

But I Can See, Those Fallen Wrinkles from the Walls

It’s Time Now

I’d Listened, with a Quieted Heart

The Sound of Time, Panting, as it’d, Marched Backwards in Swift Tempo

So, this, probably reflected how the narrator wished that time can be turned backwards, so s/he can get something that’s already lost back again, and, there’s, that scent of regret in all of this, of how quickly the time passes, and how we can’t, get what we’d already lost back again…