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Poem

Blades of crimson and blades of gold
whisper secrets in the  b r e e z e -
They gather at a place nobody sees,
and there long stories are told-
Even if the chill is cold.

They speak of Mother Nature’s grace,
and how she births such allure-
Of all the rustling they endure,
they still carry smiles upon each face-
Leaving trails of secrecies without a trace.

Blades of crimson and blades of gold
whisper secrets in the  b r e e z e -
They all linger and float off the trees,
yet make time for narratives to unfold.
So many wives’ tales still untold.

They speak of that old Mr. Willow Tree.
You know, the one that weeps at dawn-
Sometimes to sadness he is drawn,
as he sheds his sorrowful debris.
His Ms. Maplecrest has no more leaves.

Blades of crimson and blades of gold
whisper secrets in the  b r e e z e -
They fear the day talking will cease,
soon Winter will wither them old-
no more parables to behold.

Beautiful leaflets can I listen to you?
Can I give you a reason to keep humming?
Autumn is here and the cold soon coming,
but one thing I don’t think you knew-
The earth conceived such an adored view-
Oh- crimson and gold blades so stunning,
for your delicate whispers, I say thank you. 


Date Written: September 17, 2016

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