The rules of paper, turning leaves,
are wider and a little blurred,
with crimson fringes on their sleeves,

wearing hearts, would you believe,
and captioning my every word?
The rules of paper, turning leaves

to stanzas of the mind, conceived,
their pictures, just how I preferred;
with crimson fringes on their sleeves

and yellow braiding in their weave
that puts you in a trance, allured.
The rules of paper, turning leaves

to pallets, where the paint bereaves
the branches of their nesting birds,
with crimson fringes on their sleeves

to wear a semblance, on the eve
of October, so I‘ve heard;
the rules of paper, turning leaves,
with crimson fringes on their sleeves.