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Blossoms gone, just leaves remain
Rich and crisp, strong and tense
Defying all that comes their way
With crackled skin and golden veins
The sun picks out their curling tips
That waver in the autumn glow.
An almanac of vibrancy
Russet, ochre, fills the skies
As I tramp upon the shady floor.
But there, up there,
I see no birds nor hear their song
Yet I can hear October’s air,
Nature’s chanter plays her tune,
Its modest whistle rising high
A thousand leaves dance in reply
Rustling, brushing, side by side
Sweeping, searching, as they blow
In one last crazy dance
Caressing as they rise and fall.
The branches’ softly swishing tails
In unison, they flow
Like a thousand batons synchronized
Or violins in forest guise
Leaves cling tight to their trapeze
Swinging madly in the breeze
I marvel at their majesty
But know it cannot last
For soon the leaves will perish
And all this will be gone.

Author: Paul Colvin

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