the morning was, and she believed;
 the autumn, shy and reticent
 came timidly to call her name.
 
 the angels fell like leaves in droves
 and she a purple memory lived
 within a house, a home, a dream.

 the languor that comes easily
 can bring us rest, if we but see --
 the morning came, and she believed.

 the sun was 
 a better boyfriend:
 touching her
 the way she liked, and
 at happier times