They came down in fits and starts–
Some yellow, some red, some ochre,
Even some green
With dingy browns.
They lay in clusters, in clumps,
In piles, even solo- in rude disarray.
Gone! Gone are days of verdure-
The boughs reached out
Splayed twiggy fingers
Into mournful emptiness.
The leaden skies vaulted,
In a dirge of silence,
Above the strewn landscape
Of shorn leaves and hidden sod.
Ebbing! Life’s ebbing moments,
In leafy metaphors, spoke in volumes
The sad tales of waning loves,
Of despair and despondence,
Of the fizzling fights
And of creeping seconds
That dwindle into nothing.
Then, ceasing toil and tremor,
Life lies down in placid content
Waiting for God’s Own Time!