Abscission

Those brown,

Fallen,

Autumn leaves

Lie scattered

On the ground,

While those remaining

On Sugar Maple trees,

Flutter and dance

Through the morning wind.

 

As trees of old,

Turn to crimson and gold,

And

As we move

Towards the dark of winter,

The moons bright light

Will serve as a guide

As the days of autumn,

Grow shorter.

 

And

As an autumn mist,

An invisible fist,

Hovers over the faces

Of oceans and lakes,

We will only hear

Thunder in our ears

When in spring,

The giant awakes.