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