The wind blows scraps of newsprint and dry leaves, Tattered returns, up street, down avenue. Who runs may read, and he who reads retrieves Yesterday's gusty headlines, d'ej`a vu. ``Summit postponed,'' ``Recession slowed,'' ``Huge loan Negotiated.'' Headlines holding true Yesterday maybe, now just paper, blown At the wind's will, the news no longer new. As for the leaves puffed headlong down the street, Their news is sobering, there's been a rift Autumn from summer, green from gold. No quotes. I've read between the lines. I get their drift.