Burning Autumn Leaves
By Gregory J. Belisle
Here as long as the leaves may last,
their golden hues, bitin by the frost of night,
and left to die in their wooded home,
we burn their piles and make shadows
in the dark trespass of the evening,
creating a light which burns then fades
then burns again, contrasted by the shimmer
of the starry host above.
This is the end of all:
a flickering flame which doth easily burn out,
and the piles of the forgotten as kindle,
Their reds and golds now sparks and tinder,
But in this state they will not remain,
for spring will rear her fragile head
and let down her hair to kiss the breeze
with all her secrets. Yes yet again will these
leaves glow a multitude of colors,
but not tonight dear one, not tonight:
There are many roads to travel,
And we must not loose the light.
