Fall

south-field

I watch the rain fall,

a forest of steel shafts,

spear-straight and deathly cold,

to lie in trembling droplets

in a petal’s curved embrace.

 

Beneath cold autumn rain,

the last of the roses, swaying gently,

let scented petals fall,

drifts of sweetness

where the blackbirds fuss.

 

In this butter yellow light,

silent fall the golden leaves

against a sky blue as summer,

robins’ eggs and forget-me-nots.

Remember this when frost furs

in frigid white

our winter world.