Falling Colors

Walking in the woods of autumn fire
in my own autumn, wistful
heart to the colors lifts: All
the triumph of a spring advanced

victory of a summer lived
the flowers gone to fruit
and fruit to seed dispersing
on the errant winds that blow…
All finished now, and so
green departs the leaf and reed,

the wind whips over flaring brights
and muted shades of rust
of faded pink, of watered red,
and weeds are dead
beside the path
where I walk in autumn
of my own.

September 2009