March 31, 2012


Leaves aged crimson, gold and brown
scattered here, across the ground,
started so green, all skyward bound.

Mother trees, gray and black,
strain for light within the pack,
pushing leaves up, right on track.

All mature in summer heat,
one short season to compete,
will find repose when raked so neat.

Only some few leave their mark,
stain the sidewalk in the park,
wet with rain in days grown dark.