Leaves
There's nothing left of Autumn but the leaves
They swirl and scatter, meet then disengage
The moon shines silver footlights in the sheaves
and turns the marble court into a stage
She draws the curtains when she starts to feel
there's nothing left of Autumn but the leaves
and when they part again, the scene seems real,
with dancers in the wings that she perceives
A clever wind plays fiddle in the eaves,
while brittle ballerina's pirouette
There's nothing left of Autumn... but the leaves
still dance for her tonight, in silhouette
The figures in the cast are what she chose,
those figments of the past her mind retrieves
and when the show goes dark at last, she knows
there's nothing left of Autumn but the leaves
Copyright © Lycia Harding | Year Posted 2024
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