Anna's weeping beneath the old catalpa tree

As beautiful as can be, seeds descend slowly from the leaves

she clutches her torn photographs to her chest

She tries her best to recall, his voice, his hands

Anna's heart is leaping, thoughts fleeting, memories glide by so fast

Half-empty perfume bottles on the vanity

Lipstick hearts draw on the mirror, the worn needle on the record player

Now Anna's sleeping beneath the old catalpa tree

Shivering in the breeze, she cradles her knees, and dreams