Of Autumn Leaves...

The bud becomes the green of it

The green, a sheen of trees

But always at the end of it

…Autumn leaves

The heart becomes the hub of hope

Hope hungers, yet believes

It sees beyond the stricken slope

Where Autumn leaves

Oh, how we sing for joy of it

The color-world it weaves

Before the winnowing of it

In Autumn leaves

Futile to cling to strings that fray

Mouth smiles though spirit grieves

And thrills; the Painter spills His tray

Of Autumn leaves

Morning is a girl, slight of years

Time’s tide rushes, recedes

Where dusk is like a widow’s tears

Where Autumn bleeds

While we, like children press our faces

To frames filled with sheaves

And watch the wind-wand as it chases

Rain through leaves

As we hug hurt, stirred by the dirt

Where bud never retrieves

The tatters of a fallen shirt

Of Autumn leaves

© Janet Martin