Sound of the Silver Maples
Autumn day, stretch forth your song,
Disrobe the trees of faded attire
And make them bare, so cold among
The remaining limbs still hued with fire.
You hear that scraping sound across
The top of your car roof? You hear
That crunch, the sign of coming frost
That beckons early snow appear?
The leaves beneath slow treading feet,
More faded, clasp to tawny shoes,
Attracting themselves to such heat
That leapt out with the change of their hue.
Cling maple leaves, cling maple leaves!
For soon you’ll wash away as snow
Descends across the yard, and as thieves,
Carries you away in tow.
Then scraping over the windshield
You’ll hear no more as leaves are rushed
As prey off my snow-swollen field,
This autumnal sound of maples hushed.
-published in All Aboard the Timesphere