Cold gold sun
in an old gray sky
where the song birds
used to fly.
Cold gray sky
wrapped around the world
on that old November day.

Against cold red rock
I sat, cold red hands
in the dying grass,
while November wind
blew ‘cross my cold red face.

Cold red rock and
cold red hands and
cold red cheeks,
while I sat
beneath a dying sky.

Underneath that sky with
my cold red hands,
I thought of you.

I thought of you
and called for you
and wished for you.

But you weren't there.

In the old dead grass
beneath an empty sky
I wished for you
and called for you
and cried for you.

And the grass
and the trees,
they cried too.

But you weren’t there.

And I began to despair
that you would ever come,
that I would wait for you forever
underneath that bleak brisk sky.

I closed my eyes
and leaned back against
the old red rock,
ready to wait
from eternity to eternity.

But then you came,
from nowhere, it seemed.

When you came to me
you took my cold red hands
in your own soft hands.
My cold red hands-
the old red hands
that they had become.

You pressed my
cold red hands
against your warm red cheeks
and smiled
a beautiful smile.

With my old red hands
my cold red hands
wrapped tightly in yours,
I slowly stood up
and I left behind
that old red rock.

I left behind
that old red rock
though it stands there still,
from eternity to eternity,
waiting for me
beneath a cold and heartless
November sky.