Autumn on Bayou St. John

Floating still against the wind,
My stoic gliding pelican,
Your wings and my locks
Have turned brown with maturity.

Despite our moving opposed
To forces that coolly blow
Our arms need not flap
While pursuing the lake once more.

It's a trend we've come to know
Like New Orleanian snow:
A girl progressing into the wild,
Like a bird flying backwards out to sea.

Alike are strolls for you and I,
On waning shores and in clearing skies,
Both pushed forth by tide and breeze
To gradually gallop, gaining homogeny.