So everything dies…

Just last week the leaves clung

to their boughs

though heavy and sweetening,

 

glowing in October’s

blinding noonday sun

with its

hint of warmth still;

dancing in the stir of a breeze

soon to be bitter wind,

but mild still causing all to

inhale deeply, slowly

 

in a final, seasonal mindfulness

of fleeting comfort;

but November brought a change

of heavy rain

and the verdures no longer clung,

they yielded

and fell underfoot, waterlogged,

soon to rot,

 

staining the sidewalks if not

raked and swept

to be discarded in bags for burial,

 

no longer afforded

the final aromatic triumph of

autumnal cremation

stinging the eyes of dancing children

and rake-braced adults

gathered round in funereal muse.

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Turning…

A last leaf clings to barren branch
a last breeze carrying sun’s fading glow
dusk races ahead of us at day’s end
summer green wounded by a frost
and we are the sadder for it all;

but fauna knows this time to turn
though lives shorter than ours
while instinct may lead to envy
we much rather enjoy the surprise.

Neighbors at odds…

Two neighbors had a disagreement
and I thought I’d tell you about it all,
along my street, the walk beside
and the leaves which in autumn fall,
one soul industriously gathered
his spent yard of flora in a neat pile,
another traipsed along with child
spying it with uncontrolled smile,
the lad ran and jumped in all joy
while the raker looked on aghast,
leaves tossed in the air here, there
with frustrated laborer in contrast,
kids will be so, the guardian shrugged
but the other endured no delight
no try was made to stop or enjoy
and neither thought the other right,
two neighbors at odds in autumn time
there’s no harm in a child’s trespass,
then tell me your home the raker asked
and I’ll deliver leaves to your address.

A pear tree in Aurora…

Autumn Pear

There is a pear tree
shrouding the yard of
an abandoned house in
old Aurora, hiding the porch
now warped and columns
peeling layers of paint to
expose once bright but now
faded pastels of pleasant days
when a swing swung with
happy children and this was
home; in the autumn now this
tree has heavy boughs
threatening, warped and
neglected, as unpicked fruit falls
with dead thuds, breaks under-
foot and rots in the noon sun
yielding a sickeningly sweet odor,
and bees dance over the
inedible decay of this autumn.