Autmum Leaves
September came and went without notice.
No leaves fell, just a blur of red and gold
Caught between the fading greens of summer.
October flew, never heard the sound of
Anxious wings or saw the arrow moving south,
Exacting form against steel, brooding skies.
November blew in and weathered canes long
Bare of rose bent hip-heavy, the dying
Leaves a mosaic of rust and black, trembling
Like an aging hand waiting for water.
Now in December, I see the ash tree;
I hear the north wind; I touch your cold hand
As one tired leaf succumbs to winter's death,
The tree unchanged by autumn's final breath.
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