Breathe

Upon the bench appeared a woman
Seeming from no place
She looked at me with a knowing grin
That played upon her face

“You sit here alone,” she says to me
“With mournful eyes you stare.
What ails you is not my business
Nor is it my care”

I look at the woman and judge her age, her grey hair growing thin,
I judge that she and Father Time must closely be akin.
“What, may I ask...” I inquire her
But she doesn’t miss a beat
“I know not what makes you sulk or
What keeps you off your feet.
What ails you is not my business
Nor is it my care.
All I wish for you to do
Is breathe the Autumn air.

“Do you not feel her presence
Mother Nature’s wary watch?
You think she does not notice
When you’re troubled by a botch?
What ails you is not her business
Nor is it her care.
What ails you is not my business
Nor is it my care.

“These mortal troubles are none but petty
They should not make you waste
A life like yours worth living
A life of your great taste.
What ails you is not our business
Nor is it our care.
We wish nothing upon you
But to breathe the Autumn air.”