Autumn

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
to muted shades, of rust
of faded pink, of watered red
and weeds are dead
beside leaf-littered
acorn-scattered path
where I slowly walk
in autumn of my own.

2009