Today you cling to twigs; the last of leaves
still there before the bending boughs are bared
I still recall the burst of buds In May
when blackbirds sang and days grew long
and then you grew to bring relief of shade,
you danced to symphonies of breeze,
and sipped the glow from morning dew.
Today I smelled the scent of fading dreams,
and watched the silhouettes of naked trees.
You, the last of leaves: it’s time to fall
to sacrifice yourself for next year’s growth.
Today we write odes with Frank at dVerse. Come join us.
November 9, 2017