updated it will include your contribution as well:)!

Intro: Let the music of language and the song of your inner silence inspire you, help you express yourself, help you continue our poem

*Enjoy*

While the wind dancingly touched the
Last autumn leaf the trembling leaf whispered: 
Each leaf that falls 

And lifts and falls again leaves me more alone,
Hanging on to my faith, the Advent of winter,
Each leaf a solemn falling note of a requiem;

And two doves have come to my open door
And Bach's Mass in B Minor, each of us somber
Penitents praying the hushed Domine Deus. 

But then a shadowed figure entered into view,
And quickly grew, his music piercing, sung
By a machine; my cousin, Bill. He stopped,
And, overtaken by the dust which followed him,

He coughed at first, then laughed at me.
"The leaves are gone. Oh boo hoo-hoo.
You know, you sap, they'll come again.
In that sense, they're like me."

"Mon Dieu! Our heaven's in disharmony—

Quel bruit!" bemoans one dove to the other.
"Cousin Bill's damned machine's cacophony
Is trying (with success) our Bach to smother."
"It's true—our Mass is an unseemly mess,
Heaven's harmonic strings have been unstrung.”
In sotto voce: "these birds I'd like to impress,"
(It's Bill.) "My machine is the Devil’s tongue.
It’s Bach they adore, not this country twang,
I’ve gone about it altogether wrong.
I fear I am not the yin to their yang,
I’d been smarter to pick a gentler song.
Alas, alack,” says Bill, “the birds have flown,

And I, like Autumn's leaf, am all alone."

Current contributors in chronological order:  night soul woman, countryfog, 

Lawrence Beck, Jim&Minor edit by Jim and *drum roll*you?