Parted leaves now withered,
your former limbs are
mute, disoriented and listless.
Has October shaken you?
Has it taken you away and
disowned you?
Have I found your teardrops
soaking my shoes or was
It really rain?
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I'll miss your fire-colored coats
cascading through loops,
and the crinkled rigid skin
so bleakly
carried off by specters in
whirling winds.
I know of your ghostly peers
fallen from high limbs
lost,
wasted,
weakened.
That chilly north wind
danced in short-tempered steps
with you too often.
And regarding elms who've
swayed and bent at their
thighs, I've seen their
random piles unkempt
in the dales--Stirred up
by wrathful winds
blowing the breath
of strife and unrest.
But in the end,
you shall all remain blameless.
For after all, like many before you,
your season--regrettably,
has now ended
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