Branches lean into each other,
forming an archway
for us to amble through,
holding hands as we do
beside the still lake.
Yellow leaves spin as the wind
offers them a moment
of weightless hope,
whistling by as we do
before the soft fall.
We peer into each other’s eyes;
into the deepest mystery of all,
searching for perfection,
and that what we find
is our own reflection.
Natasha Devalia 