
Passing through the day,
in a silk shirt, a pencil skirt,
hair gathered in a loose bun,
a few strands dancing with the wind.
The sky hangs grey,
autumn leaves rush by—
their colors whispering goodbye.
Writer

Passing through the day,
in a silk shirt, a pencil skirt,
hair gathered in a loose bun,
a few strands dancing with the wind.
The sky hangs grey,
autumn leaves rush by—
their colors whispering goodbye.