The Brave Man Stands - the Coward Leaves

THE BRAVE MAN STANDS - THE COWARD LEAVES. I stood watching the first snowflake’s battle action : First of a horde – a first-flake trumpeter announcing The immense white horde’s cold intention Of riding roughshod and merciless over everything, Last week my friendly leaves burned gold, But their cold heat was an illusion, No warm defence ‘gainst the winter cold. Theirs was no flame of defensive passion It was a mere seeming fire-moat, But a dying fire, not burning - just the yellow Of coward leaves running and turning coat At the hint of a white army certain to follow. Cold golden souls trembled as wind bit their shape, And to the air they wildly took, fleeing, trying to escape – Tumbling in panic for a while, rising slowly to drop like tears. Above the wood for another mile then fell to rest with craven peers. Widely then under the boughs of laden yellow leaf Spread a sorry carpet of brave summer come to grief. They were blown to the river - not to flame , But with dampened ardour to run ungainly, with shame, And float ignominiously, and collect their coward fellows In unranked masses at the slack black shallows. Among the faded reeds and river weeds Hiding their terror and their coward’s deeds Where brave summer had reigned in wood and river Now only poltroons were seen to shiver. They fled on the run out of the wood - Fair weather friends abandoning me as I stood.