We sat upon the bench that autumn night
And basked beneath the moon’s cool silver light
While waves of traffic lapped the park’s green shore
And squirrels rushed to fill their acorn store
A gust of wind set off a whispered sigh
Among the trees that leaned against the sky
We listened hard to catch their secret words
Between the chirping chatter of the birds
Then as we turned our faces to the moon
Our hands entwined, our hearts in sync, in tune
We felt the fingers of the silken breeze
And made our wishes on the falling leaves
— Wayne Visser